Stray (8 page)

Ford shook his head again.

“She was taken.” There was genuine fear in his voice. Aislynn thought of the hooded figure she had seen in the garden with Maris. But both Adviser Hull and the headmistress had said that Maris had strayed. It was the only possible explanation for her disappearance.

“Oh, Ford,” said Thackery, his breath visible in the cold night air. “Aislynn doesn't want to hear your ideas on some girl's disappearance. It's nothing but gossip. You of all people should understand that there are reasons why people disappear.”

But Ford shook his head. “This is different. She didn't disappear and she didn't stray. She was taken.”

Aislynn shivered.

Thackery wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You're upsetting my new friend with your strange theories,” he said.

Aislynn quickly unwound herself from Thackery's grasp.

He winked.

“I'm not upset,” said Aislynn.

“Bet you anything she just did it for a little attention,” said Thackery with mock sympathy. “Must be boring to be a spoiled little royal girl. All those balls and gowns and all that fancy food. How terribly dull to have everything you want.”

Aislynn bit her tongue, glad that she hadn't told him who she really was. Ford swatted at him, but Thackery, laughing, easily avoided his hand.

The stables were behind the inn, away from the street lamps and the crowds. The carriage was waiting outside. One of the horses gave a snort as they approached. With a single fluid movement, Thackery swung himself up onto the tiny perch on the back of the coach.

“You just be careful of the woods, my boy,” Ford called up to him. “They're dangerous.”

“Not if you know what you're doing,” came the reply.

With a shake of his head, Ford helped Aislynn back to her seat, and they were on their way again. As the carriage rumbled along, the sounds of the town fading behind them, Aislynn thought about Maris. Was she at Josetta's palace now? Had she been welcomed with open arms, a place in the Wicked Queen's army reserved just for her? Or had it been Josetta herself beneath that black hood, pulling Maris into the shadows?

Just thinking about it made Aislynn shudder. Proper young women did not entertain thoughts of those who had strayed. It was better to forget. After all, Maris had made it clear that she would do anything to keep from being Redirected. Aislynn wondered how quickly she would regret her decision.

Closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the carriage seat, Aislynn vowed that she would not make the same foolish mistakes. She would become a fairy godmother and follow her new Path diligently. She would be grateful. She would not be like Maris.

The sound of Thackery's feet hitting the ground woke Aislynn. She started as he thumped on the carriage door and poked his head through the small window. “I'm sure I'll be seeing you around,” he said with a wide smile.

Before she could respond, the carriage pulled away. Ford drove on to what looked like a back entrance, where a single lantern was lit, swinging in the breeze. The building's solid stone walls and circular courtyard looked unnervingly similar to Nerine, and for a moment Aislynn was terrified that she had simply been returned to her old academy. But as Ford helped her out of the carriage, she noticed that the flags waving from beside the door were a different shape and color than the ones at Nerine, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“You can knock,” Ford said as he reached for her trunk. “They'll be waiting for you.”

Aislynn rapped her knuckles on the door. After a few moments, it swung open to reveal a girl, a little older than Aislynn, dressed in the traditional gray servants' uniform: an ankle-length skirt under a matching apron, her blouse buttoned to her chin. She was carrying her own lantern, and its flame flickered and danced in the wind. Her head was uncovered, tight dark curls pulled back from her tired face.

“We were beginning to worry,” she said to Ford, who had placed the trunk at Aislynn's feet.

“No need to worry,” he said.

The girl nodded, her shoulders relaxing. Her eyes were dark and beautiful, like two chestnuts, her skin almost the same shade as Aislynn's.

“I'll be tending to the horses unless you need me,” said Ford.

“No, that should do.” The girl hoisted Aislynn's trunk up against her hip and turned back into the dimly lit building.

“Thank you, Ford,” said Aislynn. She unwrapped the shawl from her shoulders and gave it back to him.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night.” Aislynn watched as he climbed onto the carriage and, with a
tsk
to the horses, slowly rattled away.

“You must be tired,” the servant girl said, startling Aislynn. “I'm Brigid.” It seemed as though she gave a slight curtsy, but it was hard to tell if she was just shifting the weight of the trunk against her hip.

“Aislynn.”

“Come with me; I'll show you where you'll be staying.” Brigid ushered her inside.

The room was dark, and it was hard to see beyond the small circle of light cast by the lamp's candle, but Aislynn could tell it was the kitchen. They passed a large iron stove and shelves overflowing with pots and pans and a doorway adorned with dangling onions and garlic. The embers in the fireplace were still glowing, and Aislynn could see a spit for roasting meat.

She followed the servant girl into a grand hallway. The walls were lined with sconces that cast a splash of light on the plush carpet covering the stone floor. Everything looked new. Even the paintings seemed to gleam with fresh paint. Despite its exterior, Elderwood Academy was very different from the formal, bare Nerine.

Aislynn followed Brigid up the center staircase and toward the dormitories. At the very end of the hallway, Brigid paused in front of a simple red door with a plain latch. Next to it, just a few feet away, was another door, also red. Unlike the one they stood in front of, it had dramatic curved handles with meticulously carved patterns in the wood.

“Would you mind?” Brigid asked, passing the lantern to Aislynn before opening the simple door. It squeaked in protest.

Aislynn followed Brigid into the room. The lantern revealed dingy walls and scratched wood floors. A bed, dresser, and chair seemed to be fighting one another for space in the tiny room. There was another door on the wall to the right, which presumably led to the room next door. The only window was high up and covered in soot.

Brigid set the trunk on the floor, while Aislynn did her best to suppress a growing sense of despair. Somehow the sad, pathetic bedroom made everything unbearably real. She sat on the bed, which was lumpy.

“Best get some sleep,” Brigid said with what appeared to be sympathy. “You've got a long day ahead of you.”

I
n the dim light of the lantern, Aislynn pushed away her sadness and began unpacking, pulling the three plain cotton nightgowns and a supply of undergarments from her small trunk. There would be no more blue dresses, not for tomorrow and not ever again.

At the bottom of the trunk was the journal where Aislynn kept the recipes she had learned from Tahlia. She pulled it out and was surprised to find an oddly shaped package beneath it, covered in brown paper and tied with purple string. Aislynn turned it over to discover Tahlia's familiar handwriting on the wrapping. Tracing her fingers over the words, she read:

My dearest Aislynn
,

Keep my gift close to you always, and remember that there are no truths, only stories
.

Your forever fairy godmother
,

Tahlia

Puzzled, Aislynn tore off the paper and found that it was the mirror Tahlia had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

Aislynn was as surprised now as she had been when the present was first given to her. Hand mirrors were a common Introduction present, but they were usually given by a girl's parents, or her adviser. And they never looked like this one. The gift of a hand mirror, typically with an oval face and unadorned wooden frame, reminded a maiden of the necessity of humility. But Tahlia's gift was ornate and small, silver edges dotted with tiny red gems. Set in the handle was a deep blue stone, almost as dark as the night sky.

Aislynn was filled with loneliness. She missed her old room and her old clothes, but mostly she missed her parents and Tahlia. Carefully she folded the wrapping paper inside her journal and placed it in the dresser. Then, pressing the small mirror to her chest, she crawled into her new, unfamiliar bed and waited for the sun to rise.

The uniform itched. It was loose everywhere except around her throat, where it was pulled tight. The wimple covered her hair and wrapped down under her chin. At least there was no need for a corset, because Aislynn no longer had a waist—or a figure of any sort. Her entire form was hidden in the billowing purple fabric.

She had been sitting in the headmistress's study for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the oak desk that dominated the room. Behind it, set in the wall, were dozens of small doors. Each was the size and shape of a small book, and each was fitted with a dainty gold lock. Aislynn did not know what was behind those doors, but she welcomed the mystery, as it distracted her from the itchy headdress.

The room was warm, and Tahlia's hand mirror, which fit perfectly in her pocket, was pressed against her thigh. Aislynn didn't know if Tahlia's request to keep the gift close to her always was meant to be interpreted literally, but she knew she felt better having the mirror with her. She fought off a yawn.

With a startling
whoosh
, the door swung open, revealing a thin woman in a headmistress's uniform carrying a pile of scrolls. She looked familiar.

Following her, dressed in a white suit, was an adviser Aislynn had never seen before. The woman deposited the scrolls on the desk. They rolled across the wood, followed by a shiny red apple, like the one Thackery had been eating the night before. Aislynn thought of his crooked teeth and bare arms and felt a hot flush across her chest.

“You may call me Madame Moira,” said the woman, peering over the top of her desk with a flat expression in her dark eyes. Despite the plush carpeting and the bright paintings, it was now clear to Aislynn that this academy was just like Nerine, and that Madame Moira was just another Madame Odette.

And she now realized why this woman looked familiar. Aislynn had seen Madame Moira with her former headmistress at the ball, which meant she had likely been privy to the specific details of Aislynn's Redirection. Anxiety inched up Aislynn's spine like a long-limbed spider.

While fairy godmothers were unmarried maidens, the women who taught at the academies had once been Contained, had once been loved. But because of an inability to bear children, a betrayal of their marriage vows, or any other act of impropriety, they had been Redirected. Now, instead of serving one family, one daughter, they served many. As teachers they were expected to lead their students away from wickedness and guide them safely down the Path.

“What I see before me is a spoiled little girl who caused her headmistress nothing but trouble.” Madame Moira fixed her eyes on Aislynn. “Such willfulness will not be tolerated here. You will follow your new Path with grace and obedience. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Madame Moira,” Aislynn whispered.

“Good.” The headmistress gestured to her left. “This is Adviser Lennard.”

He dipped his head in greeting and Aislynn did the same, wondering suddenly if she should have risen when they both entered. It was quite possible that all of this was a test that she was failing horribly.

“You are being assigned to Monarch Princess Linnea,” Madame Moira continued.

Aislynn almost gasped. She knew that name. Everyone knew that name. Linnea was the daughter of Monarch King Dominick and his wife, Morganne, from the Eastern Kingdom. Both had died when Linnea was only an infant.

During her four years at Nerine, Aislynn had heard many versions of the story, and all of them came to the same conclusion—that the death of the beloved rulers was in some way caused by Monarch Queen Morganne's sister.

“No doubt you've heard of Linnea's aunt,” Adviser Lennard said, his tone as smooth as fresh butter. “Josetta, formerly of Eriostemon.”

“The Wicked Queen,” Aislynn breathed.

The adviser shook his head disapprovingly. “We do not encourage the use of that title,” he said. “It gives her a power she does not deserve.”

Chastised, Aislynn lowered her eyes.

“I have done my best to keep the monarch princess away from the damaging influences of her family,” he continued. “Both in distance and knowledge. She arrived at the academy only a few weeks ago. Almost sixteen, and her first curse came only last season.” He looked proud.

Indeed, it was unusual for a maiden to reach the bloom with so few incidents, and Aislynn felt a familiar rush of embarrassment for her own failures.

“As is traditional,” said Madame Moira, “once a young maiden enters the academy, she is given a new fairy godmother. You will be the monarch princess's. I'm sure you understand the importance of that position.” She gave Aislynn a withering glance. “She was insistent on claiming the next available fairy godmother. If it were up to me, I would have recommended she wait.”