Stray (18 page)

“I understand completely,” Aislynn said. The threat was crystal clear.

“I'm so glad.” The headmistress's eyes were sharp and cold. “It's time you learned how to use your magic properly, my dear.”

T
he instructions were twelve pages long. Adviser Lennard's handwriting was small and flat, his words like a line of orderly ants crossing the parchment. Even his final sketch of the monarch princess's gown was covered in notations. It made Aislynn dizzy just to look at it.

All around her, there was activity and chatter, the room full of beautiful dresses at various states of completion. Linnea's gown was still a pile of red fabric, neatly folded in its box. Aislynn was terrified to start, afraid of ruining the costly satin by putting scissors or needle to it.

Madame Posey was circling the room like a raven, occasionally stopping to dole out criticism. “The sleeves are uneven, Thea,” she said, fanning herself. “And watch your lace, Juliana. It's beginning to bunch.”

With summer at its peak, the heat permeated the normally cool stone and had inspired Madame Posey to carry a small fan with her at all times.

Behind the teacher's back, Juliana rolled her eyes before tugging on the misbehaving lace. It refused to smooth out. Aislynn watched her take a deep breath and close her eyes. Her eyebrows bunched together as she ran her hand over the delicate trim. Nothing seemed to happen, so she tried again. After the third time, the lace underneath Juliana's hand appeared smooth and perfect.

Next to her, Thea was doing the same thing with the sleeves of her princess's dress, but with less immediate success. It took her almost seven tries to get them even.

The air was thick with magic. When Madame Posey arrived at her desk, Aislynn realized that she had been holding her breath.

“I see there's been no progress,” Madame Posey said, and the room went quiet.

Aislynn sank down in her chair. “No, Madame Posey,” she said.

“Do you intend to send the monarch princess to her Introduction ball in her undergarments?”

There was muffled laughter.

Aislynn slid lower. “No, Madame Posey.”

“Do you know what happens to fairy godmothers who are unable to fulfill their duties?” Madame Posey was so close that Aislynn could smell the porridge on her breath. She nodded. The last thing she wanted was to remain at Elderwood Academy forever.

“Then try harder,” Madame Posey snarled.

“Yes, Madame Posey,” Aislynn said, relieved when the teacher turned away.

“Get to work,” Madame Posey snapped at the rest of the girls, and with her fan fluttering furiously, she strode to the front of the room.

Aislynn's palms were sweating, so she rubbed them quickly on her uniform before touching the satin. Carefully, carefully, she lifted the red fabric out of the box and unfolded it across the table.

First it needed to be cut. She pinned the fragile pattern to the satin, wincing with each stab. Holding the heavy silver scissors in one hand, she paused. Most of the other girls had done this step by hand, but Cecily, who was the most accomplished fairy godmother of the lot, had managed it with magic.

Glancing over, Aislynn was surprised to find the other girl watching her. Cecily quickly looked away, but the expression on her face was familiar and unmistakable—it was somewhere between pity and fear, and Aislynn had seen it every day on her classmates at Nerine.

But before that memory could fester and grow, Aislynn closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the task at hand. She was running out of time.

The sketch was clear in her mind. Concentrate, she told herself. Think about the scissors. Think about what you want them to do. She could see them, slicing smoothly through the satin. There was a tiny twitch inside her chest. Magic.

Suddenly Adviser Lennard's angry face roared into her mind. “What is your purpose?” he thundered, and Aislynn's arm throbbed. She was back in the stables, and Thackery was there, with his face sad, so sad as he reached out to touch her. . . .

The scissors clattered to the floor.

Aislynn opened her eyes, relieved to find that no one had seemed to notice. Her throat burned as if she might be sick, and her chest felt as if it was filled with stone. Gently she placed her hand on her arm, tracing the scar through the material of her uniform. Even though she knew she should, she couldn't use magic. How could she trust something she couldn't control?

She picked up the scissors, took a deep breath, and made the first cut.

Aislynn rubbed her eyes. Her spine was throbbing, her eyes blurry, and her fingers stiff. The ball was only a few days away, and Linnea's dress was about one hundred glittering beads from being almost very nearly done. Except there was also a problem with the fit, as well as an uneven hemline and a whole line of buttonholes that were too small. It was a disaster.

Since there was so much still to be done and there was so little time left, every free moment was spent rushing to finish the dress. After everyone had gone to bed, Aislynn would sneak downstairs and use a table in the fairy godmothers' dining room to work. Madame Posey had given her permission to work on it as long as she didn't attempt any magic outside of class. Laying the satin out on a sheet to keep it clean, she would sit on the bench, hunched over the increasingly hideous gown.

It was nearing midnight, and she was just about to gather up her supplies and depart for bed when she heard footsteps and whispers coming from the kitchen. Abruptly they stopped.

“Hello?” Brigid called out in a hoarse whisper:

“Hello.” Aislynn's voice echoed in the quiet of the sleepy castle. She smiled when Brigid peered around the doorway. Then Thackery appeared next to her.

“Hello,” he said, his own smile strained.

“What are you doing here?” Brigid asked, approaching the table. She held up the section of gown that Aislynn had been embroidering. It looked even worse in the light. “It looks . . . nice,” she said kindly, even though the expression on her face said otherwise.

“It still needs work,” said Aislynn faintly. She was growing more anxious at the thought of presenting the gown to Linnea. Such a monstrosity would ruin the monarch princess's Introduction, and Aislynn wasn't sure how she was going to fix it.

“I like the lacy things and the sparkly bits,” said Thackery, dropping the burlap sack he was carrying and leaning his shoulder against the doorway.

“I never knew you to have such an extensive knowledge of women's attire,” said Brigid, one eyebrow raised.

“I have unplumbed depths,” he retorted.

Aislynn had never seen Thackery inside the castle. “What is going on?” she asked Brigid. “Is there someone hiding in the stable?”

Guilty looks crossed both their faces. “Not tonight. But . . .” said Brigid, glancing at Thackery. He shrugged and then gestured as if she should continue. “There will be. In three days.”

“That's the night of the ball.” Aislynn looked down at the dress and back at Brigid, who nodded.

“We're hoping it will be a distraction, but we're not sure what to expect. They haven't hosted a ball here at Elderwood since we arrived,” said Brigid, chewing on her nails.

Aislynn had been to so many parties that surely she knew something that could be of help. “Well, you can expect that most attendees will be in the ballroom for the majority of the evening, some of them spending time along the terrace or even in the gardens below,” she said, thinking out loud. “The stables are visible from the far end of the terrace, so I wouldn't use any candles or torches that could draw attention. Carriages will be coming in around nightfall and leaving just before sunrise. If you want to get someone out undetected, I would leave when the guests leave. No one will be looking inside the coaches.” Aislynn realized she was rambling. Brigid and Thackery were just staring at her, and she felt foolish. “I'm sorry.”

“All that information is immensely helpful,” Brigid said with a grateful smile. “The Orphans owe you a debt of gratitude. Again.”

“The Orphans?” Aislynn noticed the nervous look Thackery gave Brigid.

“She's practically one of us already,” Brigid said to him before turning back to Aislynn. “What you saw that night with Gilly, that's what we do. Taking back from Josetta what's ours. What's always been ours.”

“It's not much right now,” Thackery added. “But it won't always be that way.”

“I want to help,” Aislynn said, surprising herself, but it was impossible to ignore the rush of happiness she felt when Brigid had said she was one of them.

Brigid shook her head. “I don't want to get you in more trouble with the headmistress. I know she's been keeping a close eye on you.”

“I'm not afraid of Madame Moira,” said Aislynn. It wasn't exactly true, but Brigid and Thackery didn't need to know that.

Thackery shuddered. “I am. I value my toes far too much to make her angry.”

Aislynn and Brigid both stared at Thackery, who was looking at his feet.

“What are you talking about?” Brigid asked.

“The thing with the fairy godmother and the toe and the—” He made a slicing gesture. When he saw their uncomprehending faces, he dropped his hands in exasperation. “She hacked off her fairy godmother's toe. Haven't you heard the story?”

“What?” gasped Aislynn, but Brigid just rolled her eyes.

“I swear on Jack's beanstalk, Thackery. You love gossip more than the princesses do.”

“It's not gossip,” he said seriously. “It's the truth.”

“Madame Moira chopped off her fairy godmother's toe.” Brigid sounded unconvinced.

“It happened before she was, whatever you royals call it—rerouted?”

“Redirected,” said Aislynn.

“Apparently before Madame Moira was Redirected, she came from a well-connected family. And the man she married wanted very much to be well connected, too. Only he didn't want to remain connected to her for very long. So he reported her to the family adviser, claiming that her fairy godmother had told him that Madame Moira was willfully using magic.”

Brigid scoffed, but Thackery continued. “So the charming husband was able to get his wife Redirected, keep the title she gave him, and marry the woman he wanted. But the headmistress, believing that her fairy godmother had betrayed her, flew into a rage and—chop, chop, chop.” He made the slicing gesture again. “Terrible, isn't it?”

Aislynn felt sick.

“You know what's terrible?” Brigid asked. “That story. That story is terrible.”

“It's the truth!” he insisted, and then added quietly, “I feel sorry for her.”

“For who?” Brigid crossed her arms. “Not for the headmistress, I hope.”

“I feel sorry for anyone who loves someone who can't love them back,” he said.

He was looking at Aislynn. Those deep green eyes seemed so sad, so lonely. A spark of warmth flickered in her chest.

Thackery looked back at Brigid. “Anyone who loves someone they shouldn't love,” he added.

“I'm sure Madame Moira would have no interest in your pity,” said Brigid, but she seemed sad, too.

Thackery shook his head. “It's not pity if you understand how it feels.”

There was silence then, a silence that seemed to go on forever. “It's late,” said Brigid finally. “Too late to be talking about such things. Good night, Aislynn.”

Aislynn watched them go, not exactly sure what had just happened, but the way Thackery glanced back at her made her feel as though she was somehow involved.

And then, suddenly, unbidden, she felt magic tickling her ribs. With nervous hands, she reached for the dress. Closing her eyes, she gripped the silk and pictured the gown as it should be. Perfect and elegant.

Like a loaf of bread, she felt herself expand and release, magic flowing from her palms. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. She opened her eyes.

The gown had been transformed. Each bead was neatly sewn, the uneven stitches corrected, the hemline straight. Even the buttonholes were the right size.

It was beautiful.