Stray (17 page)

Her feet slapped against the ground as she ran, but the trees kept pushing her back
.

Suddenly she couldn't move. Her dress was caught, the tattered skirt wrapped around a snarl of branches. She tugged at the blue fabric until it ripped, freeing her and sending her stumbling forward
.

When she regained her balance, she was no longer alone in the forest. Up ahead, she could see a pair of yellow eyes and a silvery coat gleaming in the moonlight. Waiting patiently for her. Gathering her dress in her arms, Aislynn took a deep breath and ran after the wolf
.

She woke exhausted, as if she hadn't slept at all. Aislynn couldn't stop yawning as she stumbled down the stairs, through the kitchen, over the lawn, and toward Thackery's cottage.

“Morning,” he said in a slow drawl when he saw her. At least he didn't seem angry or annoyed. “Your flowers, my lady.” He handed them to her, a single eyebrow raised. “You look terrible.”

“Much appreciated.” Aislynn lifted the bouquet in a mock salute, and her long sleeve fell back to her elbow. Immediately she grabbed at the sleeve, tugging it back over her most recent wound and down past her wrist. The flowers slipped from her hands.

“How did you get that?” Thackery's eyes were wide.

“How did you get yours?” Aislynn countered quickly, still holding her sleeve.

Thackery frowned. “I'll tell you if you tell me.”

“You tell me first.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He raised a finger. “That's not fair, is it? How do I know you'll still tell me?”

“You don't.” Aislynn wondered what he would do if she bolted. The thought was incredibly tempting. “But you're the one who wants to know, so you have to follow my rules.”

“Fine.” Thackery shrugged, but Aislynn could see his jaw tighten. “Which one do you want to know about first? This one?” He touched the scar on his throat. “Or this one?” With a smooth tug, he pulled his shirt over his head.

The last time Aislynn had seen him without his shirt on, she had been too far away to get a good look. This time she was close enough to touch. She gestured for him to turn around and stepped closer.

Instead of the buttonlike design that had been branded on Brigid, Thackery's scar contained what appeared to be a crudely drawn shield. Without thinking, Aislynn touched the circle with her finger. With a start, Thackery jerked back, wrapping his large hand around her wrist and holding it away from his body.

“I didn't say you could touch,” he said. “Your fingers are cold.”

“It's a shield.” Aislynn ignored his complaint. “Why is Brigid's different?”

“Because Brigid wasn't going to be one of the queen's huntsmen.” Thackery let go of her hand. “She was going to be a seamstress. And Ford, master and lover of all animals, was going to be a butler.”

“But Ford hates working indoors.”

“And I'm terrible with a sword. Brigid is actually a fairly good seamstress, but don't tell her I said that.” Thackery pulled his shirt back over his head. “We aren't consulted about our future. About the things we want to do.” He looked at Aislynn. “I guess we're not so different in that regard,” he said.

Aislynn was speechless.

But he wasn't finished. “At least I did something about it instead of just accepting what I was given.” Thackery said it softly, but his meaning hit Aislynn like a slap in the face.

“I need to go.” She turned to leave, but his arm shot out and he grabbed her wrist again.

“You said you'd tell me about yours.” He pushed back her sleeve to expose the still-healing wound. It was a garish red, more ugly and shameful than she remembered. “Who did this to you?” Thackery asked.

She could feel his warm fingers encircling her wrists, gentle and dangerous at the same time. Carefully he touched her scar. And as if emerging from a long slumber, Aislynn's heart began to tremble in her chest. The heat from Thackery's hand spread through her body, and the invisible wall between them seemed to shift and buckle as a
whoosh
of agony and joy flooded her. Everything inside her seemed to simmer. Aislynn wished he would release her, but she felt as if she would die if he did.

“Who did this to you?” he asked again.

The spell was broken, and Aislynn jerked her arm away.

“No one did this to me,” she said. “I did this to myself.”

His eyes widened, maybe in shock, maybe in disgust, maybe in pity.

Aislynn turned and ran.

I
t was impossible. What had just happened was completely and utterly impossible. But no matter how many times Aislynn said that to herself, it didn't refute the fact that her palms were sweating, her knees were shaking, and her heart was pounding against her ribs. Her loving heart was gone—she had seen it in that glass jar, locked away in the headmistress's cabinet. How was it possible for her to be feeling these things?

Stopping outside the kitchen courtyard, Aislynn took a moment to calm herself. She had just begun to feel normal again when the door burst open and Brigid stepped out into the early sunlight.

Guilt, as heavy as a golden ball, sank in Aislynn's stomach. She had managed to avoid Brigid all yesterday, but she knew that the responsibility of an apology lay completely on her shoulders. She stepped toward her friend.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“It was a long night.” Brigid's smile was tired as she took Aislynn's hands and gave them a squeeze. “I said some unkind things when I should have thanked you for your help.”

Aislynn squeezed back. When the other fairy godmothers started emerging from the kitchen, she lowered her voice. “Did Gilly find her sister?”

“Ford watched her get on the next carriage.” Brigid waited until the fairy godmothers had left the courtyard before continuing. “Josetta likes to make examples of those who are reclaimed. It's usually a good sign when we haven't heard anything.”

“Do you think that Linnea knows about her?” The monarch princess never mentioned anyone in her extended family, let alone her infamous aunt.

“She must know that she's a disgrace to the family and the Path, but I don't think she's aware of much more.” Brigid suddenly seemed very far away. “Adviser Lennard keeps the monarch princess quite sheltered.”

“Quite,” Aislynn repeated, surprised by the venom in her voice. It was as if by saying it aloud, she realized how much she detested Linnea's adviser.

With Linnea's sixteenth birthday approaching, Adviser Lennard's visits became more and more frequent. Still too unsure of herself to use magic, Aislynn was forced to ask for Brigid's help each time he came for tea. But he never acknowledged her, and Aislynn was grateful to be ignored.

There was still no word from Gilly, but Brigid insisted that this was to be expected, and Gilly's safety became another thing Aislynn tried to stop thinking about. The incident with Thackery was harder to forget, so Aislynn did her best to avoid him. She began waiting for the other fairy godmothers in the morning so she didn't have to face him alone and was careful not to catch his eye or brush his fingers when he passed her Linnea's bouquet.

With the summer ball approaching, preparations for the monarch princess's Introduction began to dominate Aislynn's schedule. Nearly every week there was new information from Adviser Lennard, who now preferred to deliver his instructions in person.

“It's been decided that the summer ball will be held here, at Elderwood,” he was saying as Aislynn entered the drawing room with a tray of tea sandwiches and scones.

“How wonderful!” Linnea gave a pleased little clap. Even Madame Moira looked somewhat gratified.

“Obviously, it is of the utmost importance that you present yourself properly. Your appearance, most especially, will need to be”—he shot a rare glance in Aislynn's direction—“impeccable. Dress, hair, slippers, jewelry, all of it will need to be executed precisely as designed.” There was silence, and Aislynn realized with a start that he had been speaking to her.

“Do you understand?” The question was filled with impatience. She quickly nodded. “The details will be sent shortly. You are dismissed,” he said with an annoyed wave of his hand. “Your presence is not necessary for the remainder of this conversation.”

“Yes, sir.” With a smooth curtsy, Aislynn retreated gratefully.

The adviser's voice floated out behind her. “And of course Prince Westerly will be your escort for the evening. Now, has there been any progress on securing a lady-in-waiting?”

The following day, Aislynn was summoned to the headmistress's study.

“You've disappointed me, my dear,” said Madame Moira without preamble.

Aislynn was reminded of a snake she had encountered out riding once. The creature was in the middle of the road, its eyes open, revealing two endless pools of black. The snake was so still that Aislynn had mistaken it for dead. But the second she was close enough, it sprang forward and sank its fangs into her mare's leg.

Aislynn braced herself for an attack. The headmistress's gaze was sharp and unblinking. “I have been made aware of your . . . extracurricular activities,” she said.

Aislynn held her breath. It had been weeks since Gilly's escape, but there had never been any word confirming her arrival. Had she been captured?

“I'm aware that you are often seen with one of the servant girls.” The headmistress glanced down at the parchment in front of her. “One of the kitchen maids. Brigid.” She glanced up at Aislynn, who gave a small nod.

“I assume you understand why this is distressing.” Madame Moira linked her fingers together. Aislynn's panic grew, but she bit her tongue.

The headmistress slammed her hands down on the desk. “Your obtuseness annoys me. It is obvious that your ungrateful behavior is a misguided attempt at rebellion. Clearly you believe that you were placed in your current position unfairly, and instead of embracing the role of fairy godmother, you have decided to flaunt your dissatisfaction by fraternizing with a commoner.”

Confusion replaced fear. Was the headmistress chastising her for spending too much time with Brigid?

“There is something you must understand about this life, my dear.” Madame Moira's voice was low, eyes unwavering. “This life is not fair. One day you are a lady or a princess or a queen. And the next day you are not.” For a moment she looked almost sad. “‘No journey is taken alone. Parent, adviser, and godmother. No greater service than guiding the steps of another.'” The headmistress lifted her chin, looking down her nose at Aislynn. “You must realize that as a fairy godmother, your reputation is not your own. Your behavior is a reflection on the monarch princess, and currently you are not casting either of you in a particularly positive light. You still wear your locket, I presume?”

Aislynn managed a nod, trying to ignore the hot anger surging inside her. The locket felt like a tether around her neck.

Clasping her hands together, Madame Moira leaned forward. “Let it serve as a reminder to you of the importance of remaining with your own kind.”

Her own kind? It was her own kind who had rejected Aislynn back at Nerine Academy, and the treatment here had been no different. How right Thackery had been to distrust the fairy godmothers! How justified Brigid's frustration toward royals was! And how ashamed Aislynn felt, knowing that she too had been guilty of such unfounded judgments.

“Is that all, Headmistress?” The words spilled out between Aislynn's clenched teeth. Anger had made her brave.

“Unfortunately not, my dear.” Rising to her feet, Madame Moira came around to the front of the desk. “You may think that you can hide things from me, but let me assure you: I am aware of everything that occurs within these walls.” She drew an icy finger down Aislynn's cheek. “Your teachers have informed me of your lack of progress with your required spells, and I suspect you've been using your servant girl to complete your tasks.”

Aislynn said nothing, her heart pounding. She hoped Brigid would be spared punishment.

“Remember, a fairy godmother who cannot perform her duties might not remain a fairy godmother for long,” said Madame Moira as she stepped back.

Aislynn did the same, praying that she was being dismissed. But instead the headmistress retrieved a long flat box from behind her desk, which she handed to Aislynn.

“Open it,” she ordered.

Inside was a neatly folded bolt of satin. Monarch red.

“Your new lesson.” Madame Moira gestured at the box. “You have a month before the monarch princess's Introduction. Plenty of time to complete the gown Adviser Lennard has designed. Anything you can't do with magic in the presence of a teacher, you'll be sewing by hand. And I will know if you ask that commoner for help.”

Madame Moira's words were a smooth drawl. “It would do well for you to think of this conversation any time you begin to . . . stray. I would hate for Linnea to have to train a new fairy godmother.”