Stray (27 page)

“Muriel?” Rhys called. “It's us. And we have a guest.”

The door opened, and out stepped a round, redheaded woman. She was followed by the scent of sugar and cinnamon and flour. Bookbinder bread, Aislynn thought . . . just before everything went dark.

W
hen Aislynn came to, she was sitting in a soft chair with a blanket over her lap and a bundle of herbs under her nose. She coughed and pushed the lavender away.

“You gave us quite the scare,” the redheaded woman said, handing Aislynn a plate. “Eat this.”

It was the bread Aislynn had smelled before she fainted. Her stomach growled, and this time, when she took a bite, she tasted every crystal of sugar, every dollop of butter. It was like bookbinder bread, but different somehow, the recipe just slightly altered. The redheaded woman smiled, the expression adding wrinkles to her already creased face. She was short and swathed in delicate, colorful scarves. Muriel.

Aislynn glanced around the small cottage. The walls were painted a quiet blue, and they curved up toward one another, meeting in a dome in the ceiling, which had exposed beams of gnarled, well-worn wood. A stone fireplace, crackling and popping with a cheery fire, took up most of one wall, with a door on either side of it. There was a kitchen visible through an open archway, and Aislynn caught a glimpse of a small stove and wooden counters, sparkling clean. Hanging from the two windows in the front were beautiful, glittering glass shards, which threw colored light across the wooden floor. Resting on Aislynn's lap was an old quilt, pieced together out of yellow and gray squares, soft underneath her fingers. The scent of spicy herbs and flowers drifted through an open window, and Aislynn thought that if she closed her eyes she could sleep for days.

Rhys and Elanor were sharing a bench against the wall, each devouring their own plate of bread. Cinnamon curled up at Aislynn's feet, and she fed the wolf a piece. Next to the fire was a small chair, where Muriel had perched.

“So tell me, Aislynn, what brings you to my cottage today?”

The question caught Aislynn by surprise. She glanced at Rhys and Elanor. Had they not told Muriel what had happened?

“You were kind of babbling the first time,” Elanor said. “We only got bits and pieces.”

“I think you need to tell us again,” Rhys added gently.

And so Aislynn did. Slowly this time, and starting at the beginning, she told them about her Redirection and how she had been sent to Elderwood to become a fairy godmother to Linnea. She told them how she had met Thackery and Brigid and Ford and how the monarch princess had become engaged to Westerly. She told them about Maris's disappearance and Josetta's army, about the headmistress, and the mirror and Westerly's attempt to take it from her. Her words were a waterfall, and when she was finished, she felt wrung dry.

For a moment no one said a word.

“A grown man strangling a maiden? Sounds like a royal to me.” Rhys glanced up at Aislynn. “No offense.”

“He didn't just strangle me. He . . .” She searched for the words to describe how she had felt when he attacked her—as if her magic was being pried from her bones. “It was like he was pulling the magic from inside me.”

“That's impossible,” said Elanor, her arms crossed.

“Shush, Elanor,” Muriel chided her. “Let her speak.”

“I don't know how he did it,” said Aislynn, holding a hand to her head, which had begun to ache.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting the mirror back. It was important and dangerous and Tahlia had entrusted it to her. Aislynn could not leave it with Linnea. She took a deep breath. “I have to go back.”

“I
'm sorry?” Elanor sputtered, a look of disbelief plastered across her face. “You've just told us that you were attacked in the forest by a lunatic royal who tried to”—she shuddered—“rip magic from your bones, and now you want to go back?”

“I
need
to go back,” Aislynn corrected. There was no time to be annoyed that Elanor didn't believe her. She knew what she had to do. “The mirror is my responsibility.”

Suddenly Muriel, who had gotten up to clear away the dishes, collapsed against the doorway, her face white as parchment. Rhys darted up from his seat to grab her before she fell to the floor.

“I think you need to lie down for a moment,” Rhys said gently, leading her to the bedroom.

Muriel looked confused, as if she didn't recognize him. Then she nodded. “Yes, I think you're right, Dominick.”

“That's Rhys,” said Elanor, but Muriel didn't seem to hear her. The two girls sat in silence until Rhys returned, shutting the door behind him.

“She's resting,” he said as he settled back on the bench. He looked at Aislynn. “She has a tendency to act strange on occasion. Forgets where she is, forgets who you are. It always passes, though. Do you know who Dominick is?” he asked Elanor, who shook her head.

“She called me Lia once.” From the floor, Cinnamon let out a low whine.

“Who's Lia?” Aislynn asked.

Elanor shrugged. “I don't know. Muriel had a life before she came to these woods, a life that she won't talk about. I try not to pry. Everyone has things they'd prefer not to remember.” Elanor let out a huff of breath. “Now, let's discuss your foolish mission.”

“It's not—”

“There are other things happening in these woods and in the places beyond them that are far more important,” Elanor said. “We can't just drop everything to help you retrieve a mirror that you think is special.”

“You needn't bother yourself with my foolish mission,” Aislynn snapped. “I'm not asking for your help.”

“Well, we're offering it,” said Rhys, sending a glare in Elanor's direction. “The woods are dangerous.” He let out a deep sigh. “That fancy gown of yours is not the first we've seen out here. It's just the first we've seen with someone still in it.”

For a moment, Aislynn didn't understand. Then she glanced down at the tattered remains of her dress and shivered. “I still have to go,” she said stubbornly.

“First let us go back to camp and send word to Ford. See if he learned anything else that evening.”

If he got away, thought Aislynn regretfully, but she remained quiet as Rhys continued. “Elanor is right—there is a lot of danger and dissent brewing, especially throughout the Midlands. It's not safe to try to do this alone. We'll do what we can to help.”

“Thank you,” said Aislynn.

“All for a stupid mirror,” said Elanor, but her voice had lost its contempt.

“It's not just a mirror—”

“Whatever.” Elanor threw the word over her shoulder like a handful of salt as she headed into the kitchen.

Rhys lingered a moment. “Just . . . just think about what you're doing,” he said. “There are some things you can never return from. Some things you can never undo.”

Aislynn nodded. She was beginning to learn all about the kinds of decisions you couldn't undo.

V
ines had grown over the windows, blocking out the light. Aislynn's nose was filled with dust; the floor and furniture were covered in it. Dead leaves crunched under her bare feet as she wandered the halls of her parents' home.

It was silent, as if everyone was asleep. Even the fireplace was slumbering and filled with nothing but ash
.

“Mama? Papa?” Aislynn called out, but she heard only echoes. Suddenly the front door burst open, carrying with it a cold wind and a whisper. “Come home,” it said. “Come home.”

Aislynn woke in a strange bed in a strange nightgown. It took her a moment to remember where she was and how she had arrived there. Pulling the blankets back, she swung her feet off the bed. When they touched the floor, she realized with a start that they no longer hurt. She straightened her legs to look at them, expecting swelling and sores from the previous day, but they were completely healed.

Her ruined ballgown was gone, but there was a pile of cotton dresses next to the bed. The smell of porridge came wafting through the bedroom door, and Aislynn hastily dressed.

Muriel was alone in the kitchen, making breakfast.

“They left early this morning,” she said when Aislynn asked where Rhys and Elanor were. Even though she knew they had planned on departing as soon as possible, Aislynn was still disappointed that she had been left behind so quickly.

She did her best to keep busy. She weeded the garden, swept the house, and washed the dishes. Then she dusted the bookcases, cleaned out the fireplace, and swept the floor again—anything to keep from thinking.

Part of her agreed with Elanor, that it was foolish to risk so much for something she knew so little about. There was a part of her that wanted to stay hidden in this little house forever, her past forgotten, her future unknown.

But the mirror was
her
burden, not Linnea's, and Aislynn could not leave such a dangerous item in the monarch princess's hands. Besides, Tahlia had trusted her to keep it safe. She wouldn't let her fairy godmother down.

As she cleaned the windows, Aislynn could hear Muriel in the kitchen, talking to herself. Or, more accurately, talking to Cinnamon. Though Muriel had been kind and welcoming to Aislynn, it seemed that she preferred the company of the wolf. She even directed questions at the animal, clearly expecting answers.

“I always measure twice,” she was saying as Aislynn peeked into the kitchen to see her pouring a perfectly even cup of flour back into the bag before spooning it out exactly as she had done before. “And make sure your herbs are fresh.” Cinnamon, lying on the floor with her head on her front paws, whined. “I know you prefer dried herbs, but in this case you're simply incorrect.”

Aislynn smiled when Cinnamon let out a sharp bark. “Mother always said sweet bread was for when your life was bitter and savory bread was for when your life was bland,” said Muriel, checking the oven. Wiping her floury hands on her skirt, she smiled down at Cinnamon. “Though your life is hardly dull these days, is it?”

Feeling as if she was intruding on a private conversation, Aislynn quietly slipped away from the kitchen and out onto the front steps. The sun was just disappearing behind the dense grove of trees, and the sky was smeared with red and orange.

Settling onto the warped wooden step, Aislynn stared out at the forest. The wind kicked the fallen autumn leaves, blowing them up into her face and hair, but still she didn't go back inside. She felt so useless. Useless and helpless.

Adviser Hull had always praised her mother for her strength, reminding Aislynn that “While all women are wicked, not all are weak.” To Adviser Hull, the queen was the ideal royal woman, pure and unwavering in her loyalty to the Path. Yet she had secrets and scars just as Aislynn did.

The more she learned about herself, about her mother, and about Linnea, the more Aislynn doubted that such an ideal woman existed.

Cinnamon nudged the door open and settled on the stoop, resting her chin on Aislynn's lap. It was growing cold; the sun was completely gone, and stars beginning to appear above. Aislynn shivered in her borrowed dress. It was worn thin, with neatly stitched patches along the elbows, the seams thick with mending. And though she was grateful for it, Aislynn couldn't help wishing the sleeves were a little longer or the fabric were something other than an itchy beanstalk green.