Stray (14 page)

He shrugged. “I'm no authority on what's usual behavior for fairy godmothers.” His expression was a strange combination of pity and amusement. “You're the first one I've known to ever ask for anything.”

“I am?” But Aislynn wasn't really surprised.

“Your lot tend to stick to your own kind,” he said, tucking the letter into his back pocket.

“Not an admirer, are you?” She tried to make her words light, but Thackery's face grew serious.

“Of fairy godmothers? No. But you're hardly as bad as the others.” He shrugged again. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“It sounds rather personal.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Cheer up,” he said, giving her a gentle jab on her arm. “I'll still send your letter. And deliver any that arrive.” He lifted his shovel and began to head back toward his cottage.

“How did you get that mark on your shoulder?” Aislynn called without thinking. He stopped, and she could see him tense before he glanced back.

“Noticed that, did you?” Wiggling his eyebrows, Thackery gave Aislynn a playful leer. “Notice anything else?”

“Nothing of interest,” she shot back, surprising herself.

His laugh was genuine, but it faded quickly. “Let's just say the answer to your question has a lot to do with why I'm not especially keen on your kind,” he said. His gaze swept the length of her, as if he was searching for something.

It wasn't an unusual experience; advisers, headmistresses, teachers, and peers had been doing the same to Aislynn her entire life. Only this time, she didn't feel as if she had been found lacking.

“However,” Thackery continued, shifting the shovel to his shoulder, “I'm starting to think you're not really like them at all.”

E
ven though she knew not to expect a quick response, or one at all, Aislynn couldn't help but be disappointed as weeks went by without any news from Tahlia.

As summer neared its peak, the days began to blur into one another. Her new Path became routine, and Aislynn found that her mistakes grew less and less frequent. There were even times when she was able to anticipate the monarch princess's needs and fulfill them accordingly. She was surprised by how satisfying it was to make the princess smile.

After the incident with the sheets, Linnea had not made any further attempt to interact with her classmates. She spent most of her time alone in her room reading or writing to her childhood friend, Westerly, who now sent her a letter almost every day. Aislynn was grateful for his constant, if mysterious, presence in Linnea's rather lonely life.

Each week brought the promise of a visit from Adviser Lennard, but on the day he was scheduled to call, Linnea would inevitably be greeted not by her adviser, but with an apologetic note. The monarch princess never complained but returned to her room each time visibly disappointed.

So Aislynn was surprised when they entered the private drawing room one morning and found the adviser waiting with a smile. He bowed, and Linnea beamed. Taking her hands, Adviser Lennard greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. It had been mentioned, on numerous occasions, that after the death of the monarch king and queen, Adviser Lennard had taken special care of the young princess, but his informal salutation and Linnea's delighted response confirmed that he was more of a surrogate father to her than a family adviser.

But if he cared so much for Linnea, why had it been so long since his last visit? Didn't he know how lonely and sad she was? Didn't he realize how much it hurt her when he broke his promises to come see her? Aislynn felt a twinge of annoyance, one she was quick to push away. It was not her place to question an adviser's actions.

“You are the very image of purity,” Adviser Lennard said with pride.

The monarch princess blushed and settled onto the chair he offered. He took the seat opposite, staring at her with a strange smile on his face.

It was an admiring look, but it reminded Aislynn of the way one might study a butterfly on a pin. After a few moments of silence, it became unnerving, and even the monarch princess had begun to fidget.

“Would you like some tea?” Aislynn asked, hoping to distract the adviser. It didn't work, but when Linnea nodded eagerly, he seemed to come out of his trance. Aislynn curtsied and quickly slipped from the room, heading toward the kitchen. It was spotless and deserted. Through the window, Aislynn could see several servants plucking chickens for dinner.

“He's here?” Brigid asked, entering the kitchen with two of the naked chickens, which she put next to the fire. Tiny white feathers were caught in her hair and eyelashes.

Aislynn nodded as she assembled the tea tray.

“I'm glad.” Brigid brushed off her apron. “I'm sure it was nice to see her happy.”

“It was,” Aislynn said, and the two of them shared a smile. The kettle on the stove whistled.

As Aislynn filled the teapot, she watched Brigid inspect the tray. Then, without a word, the servant girl walked over to the window, where rows of small jam tarts were cooling. Aislynn studied Brigid out of the corner of her eye as she first arranged four of the treats carefully on a plate and then quickly shoved two more into her own pocket.

“He likes sweet things,” Brigid said, adding the plate to the tea tray.

Aislynn nodded, choosing not to mention the stolen treats. It wasn't her business anyway.

Adviser Lennard and Linnea were deep in conversation when Aislynn entered the drawing room. The monarch princess paused long enough to smile up at her. Adviser Lennard continued to ignore her, even when she placed the plate of tarts and a cup of tea in front of him.

“I nearly forgot,” Adviser Lennard said after finishing his second jam tart and dabbing up the crumbs with his napkin. He patted his coat, withdrawing an elegant box in the shape of a thin book, which he handed to the monarch princess. “You'll be sixteen soon and ready to be Introduced. Or did you forget?” he teased as she quickly opened her gift.

It was a hand mirror, its oval face surrounded by a simple and traditional wooden frame. Aislynn touched her pocket, where she always kept the mirror Tahlia had given her.

“It's wonderful,” Linnea breathed. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Adviser Lennard leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea. His grin disappeared. “This is cold,” he said, lowering the cup to its saucer. He reached for Linnea's teacup and took a drink, a muscle in his jaw tensing.

His eyes swung round to Aislynn, standing in the corner. The intense anger in his eyes made her shrink back against the wall. She wished she could explain that she was still learning, that she had not yet been given permission to use such spells on her own, but she knew better than to offer an excuse.

“Why has the tea gone cold?” he asked in a low voice, rising from his chair. “Isn't it your responsibility to make sure that the tea remains hot? Isn't that your very purpose? Does
The Path
not say ‘Give me a fairy godmother, so I may not wish. Give me a fairy godmother, so I may not want'?”

“I—”

“Do not speak to me,” he hissed, eyes flashing with anger. “If you are unable to provide the simplest of necessities, then what is your use? What is your purpose?”

Aislynn hung her head, filled with shame. She wished Linnea were not here to see this.

Adviser Lennard let out an unpleasant laugh. “Pathetic, even for a fairy godmother,” he said, pointing in the direction of the door. “Get. Out.”

A
islynn fled, fighting the tears of humiliation that burned her eyes. With her head down, she rushed through the kitchen and headed straight out the back door into the blinding sun. She hurried past the manicured hedges, through the gate and to the stables.

The horses didn't even look up as she entered the dim, cool building and settled on a bale of hay in a dark corner. She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. As small as she felt. She told herself not to cry but was unable to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

No matter how hard she tried, she always seemed to stumble.

She couldn't fail at this. Failure would mean another Redirection, but this time to the life of a teacher. And the thought of being stuck at Elderwood with Madame Moira for her entire life made her ill.

Aislynn had been trying to protect Linnea, trying to keep her own dangerous and uncontrollable magic as far away from the monarch princess as possible. Surely Adviser Lennard could understand that, could forgive that.

It wasn't fair, she thought, slamming her fist into the bale of hay. All these years she had been punished for using magic, and now she was being punished for not using it. If only Adviser Lennard had seen what she had done in class, what she was capable of. Perhaps then he wouldn't be so eager to ask her to heat his tea.

Magic rattled against her ribs like a fox clawing at a cage. She was ashamed of herself for thinking such things. But she was a wicked girl, and she was full of wicked thoughts.

Aislynn pushed back her sleeve. She had always imagined that she could have claimed modesty or shyness and kept her legs hidden under stockings and nightgowns forever. Arms were harder to hide. But there was no longer the chance of a husband's gaze on her bare skin—it didn't matter what she did to herself. Pressing her palm into the fleshy part of her forearm, Aislynn released the curse, the pain both awful and necessary. Familiar and terrible.

When the magic faded, the wretched sensation in her ribs was gone, replaced by a steady throbbing in her arm. Peeling back her fingers, she found a mark almost as large as her fist.

The size of it shocked her. She couldn't stop staring at it until the sound of wheels on gravel forced her to look away.

A carriage came to a stop outside the stable door, and Aislynn heard the muffled sounds of conversation. Pulling her sleeve gently over the wound, she scrubbed the remaining tears from her cheeks.

Ford and Thackery were unloading empty baskets from a wagon, but they stopped when she approached. Ford touched his hand to the brim of his hat before returning to the task at hand, while Thackery jumped down from the wagon and followed her.

“Afternoon,” he said conversationally.

Aislynn nodded and sped up her pace. He matched it.

“Spending some time with the horses?”

“Am I not allowed?” asked Aislynn sharply.

Thackery put up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn't say that. We just don't get many fairy godmothers over here.”

“So I'm not like the other fairy godmothers,” she snapped, turning on him. “Trust me, I'm well aware of my failings—I don't need to be reminded of them.”

The shock on his face was enough to make Aislynn feel immediately guilty.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, setting off toward the castle again.

“Bad day?” His voice was low as he caught up, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Looks like you've been crying.”

Aislynn turned her face away, embarrassed that he had noticed.

“The stables are a good place for that,” he said quietly. “The gardens, too, if you ever feel the need.”

Aislynn managed a nod as they crossed the lawns toward the kitchen. Suddenly Thackery reached for her, unknowingly grabbing the newly scarred skin. Aislynn caught the inside of her cheek between her teeth to keep from gasping.

“I'm sorry.” Thackery pulled his hand back immediately. “I never meant to . . . I didn't mean . . .” Kicking at the gravel on the walkway, he continued. “Being unlike the others doesn't make you a failure. At least”—he smiled tentatively—“not to me.”

He pulled a thin envelope from his back pocket. “Maybe this will make your day a little more bearable,” he said, holding out the envelope as if it was a precious gift. And to Aislynn, it was. The familiar handwriting filled her with a wonderful, warm glow, almost strong enough to chase the pain away.