The Immortal Heights (9 page)

He put the water to heat, read the messages with her, and relayed what they learned to Kashkari and Master Haywood. “There was a meeting of the regent and his closest advisers the night Fairfax and I found ourselves in the desert—the night I summoned the war phoenix. There have been frequent meetings since, between the regent and his advisers and between the regent and the current Inquisitor. Apparently Lady Callista is still being held in the Inquisitory.”

Master Haywood placed his hands together on the desk. Iolanthe recognized it as a sign of nerves on his part—after all this time, he still cared about Lady Callista. “If they threaten her safety, the regent is sure to give them what they want.”

Was there a trace of pity in Titus's eyes as he glanced toward Master Haywood? “That is a romantic view. I am afraid the regent would have given them what they wanted even if Lady Callista were perfectly safe—by nature Alectus longs to bask in the reflection of power. He does not have it in him to deny any request Atlantis makes.”

Kashkari frowned. “Is that everything your spymaster has to tell?”

“There is a little more. Nothing has yet been said to the public. And my subjects have no particular suspicions at the moment, since I do not typically make appearances in the capital. They still believe me to be in my mountain fastness, studying like a good little princeling.”

Titus looked at Kashkari. “But you are right. I had expected a great deal more. Now I wonder if my spymaster is himself in custody.”

“Then what are we to do now?” asked Kashkari.

The kettle sang. Titus made tea and handed out biscuits from a tin. “We arrange for everyone to have a place to sleep. The lighthouse has a pair of rooms for visiting commissioners and travelers stranded by bad weather. It looks like one of the rooms is already
taken. Since Miss Seabourne should still refrain from vaulting, as much as possible, I recommend that we let her have the remaining room. The gentlemen can stay at the inn in Durness, twelve miles away.”

The gentlemen murmured their assent.

They drank their tea. Kashkari and Titus discussed the armored pods, while Iolanthe asked Master Haywood about his life in Paris.

“I've grown to be quite fond of the bakery around the corner. Their mille-feuille reminds me of those we used to buy at Mrs. Hinderstone's shop. You remember Mrs. Hinderstone's shop?”

“Of course,” she said. “It was one of my favorite places in Delamer.”

“There is a sign in there that you adored, left behind from when the place was a bookshop.”

“‘Books on the Dark Arts may be found in the cellar, free of charge. And should you locate the cellar, kindly feed the phantom behemoth inside. Regards, E. Constantinos.'”

“Yes, that one. You always laughed at it. You always understood that it was a joke.”

He smiled with the memory of the little girl she had been. Her chest tightened. “Did you like to go there because that's where you first met Lady Callista?”

“No, I went because I loved the way your face lit up whenever you crossed that threshold. There were other places that sold similar fare, but Mrs. Hinderstone's was the one for you. And you always liked
to sit at the same table by the window, and watch everyone go by on University Avenue.”

“Someday we'll go back there,” she said impulsively. “Someday when all this is behind us, we'll ask His Highness for a special dispensation to give you your old professorship back. Then you can teach there again and maybe I will even take some of your classes, if I can manage to get myself admitted.”

“Let's have a special dispensation for that too,” said Master Haywood, getting into the spirit of things.

She laughed. “And we'll have our old house back too. And it'll be as if . . . as if . . .”

She realized how silly she must sound. How could they pretend as if nothing had changed when they both knew now that the arrangement that she had found so wonderful had been the source of so much pain and confusion to him?

Her guardian set his hand on her shoulder. “Yes, let's do, if at all possible. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. I would be thrilled to go back to the Conservatory, go back to the old house, except this time with you all grown up and attending my classes.”

She took his hand in hers, overcome by both joy and sorrow. “Thank you. I would love that.”

They didn't say anything else for a while. It dawned on her that the laboratory had fallen silent, that both Titus and Kashkari gazed upon them, the former with wistfulness, whereas the latter . . .

Kashkari looked upon her with grief.

He quickly turned to Titus. “It's been a long twenty-four hours and I'm worn out. Is it possible to go to the inn soon?”

“Of course. I will vault you there. Master Haywood, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you would like. I can come back for you later.”

Master Haywood rose. “No, sire. You've already vaulted too much this day. I will go too.”

He hugged Iolanthe again. “I'm so glad you are safe.”

She kissed him on both cheeks. “Likewise. Until tomorrow.”

With Master Haywood and Kashkari waiting outside, Titus kissed Iolanthe on her forehead. “I will bring back some supper for you,” he promised.

“I already ate,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he murmured.

And kissed her again before he left.

The inn was simple, almost crude, but it was warm inside and the food decent—Titus could attest to the quality of the cooking, as he had bought the occasional soup and sandwich from the place.

It was getting late. The proprietor informed his new guests that they had better hurry if they wanted anything to eat. Haywood bowed to Titus and decamped to the taproom.

“Will you put some food in a basket for me? I am not hungry now, but I might feel peckish later,” Titus said to the proprietor.

“That can be done,” said the man in his thick Scottish accent.
“Will you want it in your room, sir, or will you wait for it?”

“I will wait for it.”

“Anything for you, young man?” the proprietor asked Kashkari.

“No, thank you. I'm fine.” Kashkari turned to Titus. “May I have a word with you?”

Something about the solemnity of Kashkari's tone made Titus's stomach drop. “Yes, of course.”

They stepped outside the inn, which was enshrouded in fog. Kashkari set a sound circle. Titus stuck his hands into his pockets and willed himself not to shiver—what was barely enough clothes for Paris felt like sheets of paper in the near arctic cold of the very northwestern tip of Scotland.

Kashkari had changed into a set of Titus's spare nonmage garments from the laboratory. He ought to be freezing too, but he seemed not to feel the teeth of the air. “Before you left Luxor today, you asked me whether I had any prophetic dreams you should know about.”

“And you said you would let me know if you did.”

In the feeble light cast by a lantern hung over the door, Kashkari's features drifted in and out of the fog. “I had a dream this morning.”

The vapors penetrated through all the layers of Titus's clothes to enclose him in their bitter embrace. “I thought so.”

“It was not a happy dream, and I woke up hoping it would fade from memory—occasionally I have nightmares, just like everyone else. An ordinary dream disappears in time, but a prophetic dream
only grows in clarity and detail.” Kashkari scraped the bottom of his boot against the short turf underfoot. “This one did not fade.”

So cold—and growing colder by the second. “You dreamed of someone's death, did you not?” Titus heard himself ask.

Kashkari was taken aback. “How did you guess?”

Instead of the fog, Titus saw the campus of the Conservatory of Magical Arts and Sciences. The students on University Avenue. The bell towers. The open expanse of the great lawn. He saw Fairfax sitting on a blanket under the starflower tree. The tree was in bloom, full of petals of the faintest pink. Whenever a breeze blew, tiny flowers would glide down onto her blanket, her shoulders, her hair.

He would never sit there with her. They would never share a picnic basket from Mrs. Hinderstone's. And he would never know what she would look like in ten, twenty, thirty years' time.

“That death has long been prophesied,” he said. “And the person in question has known it for years.”

Kashkari looked both incredulous—and relieved. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“But—but I listened to Fairfax speak to her guardian just now, and it didn't sound as if she had the slightest idea.”

For the longest time, Kashkari's words drifted between them, not making any sense at all. Then all at once Titus had his hands on Kashkari's lapels, almost lifting the latter off the ground. “What did you say? What do you mean, Fairfax did not have the slightest
idea? What does she have to do with prophetic dreams about death and dying?”

Kashkari stared at him. “I thought you said she knew.”

Titus stumbled back a step. Then another. “You saw Fairfax?
Fairfax?
”

Kashkari's voice cracked. “I'm afraid so. I'm sorry.”

“Where? Where was she?” Titus was shouting, but only so he could hear himself over the uproar in his head.

“She was lying across a marble floor with inlays of the Atlantean whirlpool design.”

“How do you know she was dead? She could just be unconscious.”

“You were in my dream too. You were shaking your head, with tears in your eyes.”

Titus could not breathe. In his mind he saw the Conservatory again. The students, the bell towers, the great lawn, the lovely starflower tree in bloom. But now the blanket under the tree was empty.

Kashkari was still speaking—or at least his lips were moving. But Titus heard nothing.

All he wanted was for her to come through unscathed—to have a wonderful life, surrounded by love and laughter. All he wanted was a single hope to light his way, when all ambition and courage had failed.

He held up a hand. Kashkari's lips stopped moving. He gazed at Titus, his eyes dark with sorrow.

But he was only losing a friend. Titus was losing everything.

The heavy door of the inn opened. The proprietor leaned out, a basket in his hand. “I be off to bed now. Anything else you need, gentlemen?”

Titus took the basket and shook his head. The proprietor disappeared back into the warm interior of his establishment, to his peaceful, orderly existence.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Kashkari, his voice barely audible.

Besides cowering, what could anyone do when the boot heel of fate descended?

Titus vaulted away without another word.

He rematerialized on Cape Wrath and stood in the fog, shivering.

The tang of the sea burned his lungs with every breath. The unseen Atlantic crashed against the headlands, wave upon unceasing wave. Overhead the beacons of the lighthouse cut ghostly trails through the thick vapor, a stern warning to maritime vessels to keep away from the treacherous cliffs.

His entire life he had been headed to just such treacherous cliffs. But somehow he had managed to delude himself that
she
would avoid that fatal crash, would spread wings in time to save herself and soar above.

He had endowed her with all the immortality he wished he could possess. But she was only flesh and blood. She could all too easily stumble and fall, her eyes blank, her limbs lifeless.

And she would.

He wanted desperately to hold her in his arms, to feel the beat of her heart and the warmth of her skin. But he could not make his feet move, even though he was chilled to the bone, scarcely able to feel the fingers clutched around the handle of the basket.

Out here he was still in a daze, still numb with shock and disbelief. The moment he saw her he would fall to pieces.

A door opened in the rectangular base of the lighthouse, where the guestrooms were located. Light spilled out, limning a figure in the doorway, peering. It was her, checking for his return, becoming worried that he was taking too long.

He could not face her. He could not face the rage and the grief that were beginning to pulsate in his veins. He could not face a future in which he lived only for duty, not after he had at last known what it was like to hope with every breath and every thought.

He lifted his wand and pointed it at his head. It was the most cowardly of choices. But he would allow himself this: a few hours free of the knowledge of her impending death.

A few hours of him, her, and a future that included sunny days underneath a starflower tree in bloom, with friends about to drop by any moment.

CHAPTER
8

IOLANTHE WAS DEBATING WHETHER TO
clear the fog so she could see farther out when Titus emerged from the swirling vapors.

She ran to him. “What took you so long? Fortune shield me, your hands are frozen. Where have you been?”

His lips too were icy as they pressed against her cheek. “Sorry. I was just standing outside.”

She pulled him in and shut the door tight—his teeth were chattering. “Why? What did Kashkari tell you?”

He leaned back against the door, his eyes half-closed. “He told me what he saw this morning in his prophetic dream.”

Her heart stopped. “What did he say?”

Titus exhaled slowly, carefully. “I have suppressed that memory for now. It will come back by tomorrow, but at the moment I have no idea what he said.”

The only other memory he had ever suppressed concerned the
details of the prophecy about his death. She felt light-headed, as if she stood on the edge of a chasm, and its bottomless depths were drawing her forward.

Her fingers tightened around his—so cold, his hand. She ignored the fearful clamor in her head and tugged him down the corridor toward the bath. “There is a hip bath inside. I already filled it with hot water. Get in and get warm.”

“You probably filled it for yourself. I do not want to take away your soak.”

She indicated the pajamas she wore—ever since they'd started preparing to leave school at the drop of a hat, the laboratory had become much better equipped with such supplies as food, linens, and spare clothes. “I had my wash—you go thaw yourself out.”

The inside of the bath steamed, an echo of the conditions outside, except it was warm and smelled of the handful of dried silver moss she had found in the laboratory and tossed into the water.

“I am sorry,” he said, as they stood on either side of the doorway. “I am sorry I bring terrible news without being brave enough to tell you what it is.”

The ravage of the desert was still on him. His eyes were hollow, his cheeks equally so. Her heart broke. “Let's not think about it.”

“How? How do you not think of an impending disaster?”

How indeed. She set her hand on his lapel, the wool still damp from the fog. “Do you remember the reason I brought down my first bolt of lightning, in Little Grind-on-Woe?”

“You said you were trying to correct a batch of light elixir that had been ruined.”

“I'd volunteered to make the light elixir for a wedding—not out of the goodness of my heart, mind you. The villagers were complaining about Master Haywood, because he wasn't a very good schoolmaster to their children. And I was hoping that by doing everything I could for Rosie Oakbluff's wedding, her mother, who had the power of dismissal over Master Haywood, would let him remain in place until after the qualifying exams for upper academies.

“Except I hadn't been properly schooled since we got to Little Grind. With luck I might pass the qualifying exams, but the chance for me to do well enough to be awarded a grant was almost nil. Our finances were quite depleted at that point; without a sizable grant, an upper academy education would have been beyond our means.”

And no university would look at a candidate who hadn't been through the rigorous preparatory program of a good upper academy.

“But every day, after I finished teaching Master Haywood's students, after I corrected their homework, scored their tests, and prepared for the next day's practical, I sat down at my desk and stared at an old calendar full of pictures of the Conservatory. And then I studied during whatever hours remained of the day.

“I plied Mrs. Oakbluff with favors and even went so far as to call down a thunderbolt to revive the silver light elixir for her daughter's wedding, all for something that was essentially hopeless from the very beginning.” She smiled. “Sound familiar?”

He gazed at her, his eyes solemn and beautiful. “Somewhat.”

“It's the same here. The prophecies will most likely come to pass, but I won't concede anything until then. I won't despair now because a shadow might fall tomorrow.” She touched his hair, also damp from the fog. “Or perhaps I've already despaired—and decided that while despair is fine as an occasional indulgence, it can't be served three times a day.”

He took her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Is it as simple as that?”

“What? A big helping of stubbornness plus a gentle sprinkling of lunacy? Of course. If you need more of either, I'm sure we can find some in the laboratory.” She kissed him on his cheek. “Now get in that tub before the water freezes.”

She carried the basket of foodstuffs back to the laboratory. It contained a flask of soup, sandwiches, and a pudding. Solid English fare—and except the flask of soup, all stone cold. She reheated everything as best as she could, watching her flames carefully to make sure they didn't scorch the pudding or lick the sandwiches.

The next second she was sobbing, prostrate over the worktable, grief inundating her like a storm-driven surge, each wave more pitiless than the one before.

How deranged she had been, to believe that she could make the difference. That she would single-handedly save him from certain doom. And every time they cheated death, every time they emerged
unscathed from an impossible situation, her belief had grown stronger. Why should she have been given control of the divine spark, if it weren't to defy all such ill-written fate?

What had Princess Ariadne foreseen? What terrible detail had Kashkari's dream added to that inevitable future? Did they see her kneeling by his lifeless body, screaming with rage and futility? Did they mention that she would destroy everything in her path afterward, leaving nothing but fire and ruin?

A hand settled on her shoulder. “I have stubbornness and lunacy side by side on this shelf here. Which one was it that you could not find?”

At the sound of his voice, her sobbing only became more uncontrollable. “Do you have a jar of delusion too? I depleted all of mine.”

He lifted her from the worktable. “No, I am all out of extra delusion. But I do have a bit of sense left, if you want it.”

“What's that?”

He wiped her tearstained face with a soft handkerchief. “You should not despair now because a shadow might fall tomorrow.”

More tears trickled down her face. “Fortune shield me. Where have I heard that old chestnut before?”

“A barmy mage told me before I went into my bath. Perhaps you have met her: beautiful girl, but scary—will electrocute you if you are not careful.”

Despite herself, she felt her lips curve in the beginning of a smile. “And what do you do to make sure she doesn't electrocute you?”

“I distract her with bushels of rose petals. She loves that sort of sentimental rubbish.”

She snorted. Rose petals had been something of a running joke between them from the beginning of Michaelmas Half, except she had been the one ridiculing
him
for using them as a shorthand for romance.

“You want to see some of the other distractions I had prepared, so she would not smite me?”

“Let me guess: the moon and the stars?”

“Close enough.” He walked to a locked cabinet, opened it, and extracted a sphere the size of the snow globe Cooper kept in his room at Mrs. Dawlish's. Dimming the light in the room, he said,
“Astra castra
.
”

The sphere burst open. Countless tiny stars emerged and floated in the air, like an overabundance of pixie dust. Gradually, the tiny stars organized themselves into the familiar shape and brilliance of the Milky Way.

She held her breath: the miniature galaxy was mesmerizingly beautiful.

But all too soon, the stars vanished.

He gave her fireworks next, diminutive yet intricate blazes. After that, a small, glowing seed that turned into a sprout, a sapling, and then a large, wonderful tree, the rustle of its tender green leaves like music, the swaying of its boughs releasing a gentle rain of tiny silver petals.

“I always imagine you sitting under such a tree on a warm day, on the great lawn of the Conservatory, with a carton of pinemelon ice from Mrs. Hinderstone's by your side.”

She shook her head. “There are no trees on the great lawn.”

“Now you tell me. Well then, I had better order one planted, so it will be there for you when you are a student at the Conservatory.”

“Will it look like this tree?” She tilted her face up for one last glimpse of the green canopy, which was already disappearing.

“Yes, of course.”

She glanced back at him. Until this moment, she hadn't noticed the pajamas he wore. She had seen him half-dressed a few times, but she had never seen him casually dressed. No matter how early she arrived in his room for their morning training sessions in the Crucible, he was always already in his school uniform.

He returned the light in the laboratory to its normal brightness, and she saw that the pajamas were soft-looking dark-blue flannel, with the top button of the shirt undone. Her heart thudded: she couldn't look away from the skin that one open button exposed.

And she didn't want to. “Kiss me.”

He took a pretty glass jar from the cabinet. The jar was filled with sweets. He opened the jar and held it out toward her. “Try one.”

She put a green-striped bonbon in her mouth. And when he kissed her, the bonbon melted with a burst of freshness: mint, basil, and a hint of silver moss. But it was he who made her pulse race: his hands in her hair, the sinew of his arms beneath her fingertips, the
scent of Pears soap that still clung to his hair and skin.

“What do you think?” he asked softly, his eyes dark.

Her fingers toyed with the second button on his pajama shirt. “Did you make all these yourself?”

“I stole everything from Lady Callista last summer. Want another one?”

She placed an iridescent, almost glass-like lozenge on her tongue. It was marble-cool and tasted like it too. She snapped that second button on his pajama shirt open and pressed the pad of her finger against his skin.

He sucked in a breath—and kissed her so thoroughly that her head spun and the sound of distant wind chimes echoed in her ears.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured.

She did so reluctantly and saw that they were standing under a rainbow. And the soft tintinnabulation of wind chimes still vibrated the air, growing fainter as the rainbow faded.

They were pressed together from shoulders to knees. He touched his lips to her ear, sending a current of electricity through her. “Still think rose petals are a terrible idea?”

She encircled his wrist with her fingers—his pulse was as erratic as her own. “You, Your Highness, are made of clichés.”

“Hmm. I take it you do
not
want me to make it rain hearts and bunnies?”

“Of course I want to see something that ludicrous!”

He dug deeper into the cabinet and extracted yet another sphere.
“Delectatio amoris similis primo diei verno.”

Love's delight is as the first day of spring.

The sphere split open. No hearts or bunnies emerged, but hundreds of sparkling butterflies did, flitting around in the laboratory, landing on beakers and drawer pulls before evanescing, leaving behind a pastel shimmer in the air and a barely perceptible fragrance, like that of meadow flowers drenched in bright sunshine.

She half laughed, caught between the absurdly sentimental nature of the tableau and its innate and unabashed sincerity. She laughed again, only to find her eyes stinging once more with tears.

She cupped his face in her hands. “You didn't make it rain hearts and bunnies.”

“Next time,” he murmured. “May I stay here tonight—with you?”

Her heart rolled over. “I thought you'd never ask.”

“By the way, Your Highness, you lied,” she said, much later, her head on his shoulder.

He laced their fingers together. “Hmm, shocking. What did I lie about this time?”

“About there being occupants in one of the rooms of the lighthouse. There's no one here except us.”

“A most desirable outcome.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “You are sure that there are no trees on the great lawn of the Conservatory?”

“None when I lived there.”

“I will need to pretend some had been planted in the years since you left.”

She turned toward him and trailed her fingers along his arm. “Have you ever visited the Conservatory?”

“No, I have only seen it in pictures. On the whole I spent very little time in Delamer. Most of my childhood was in the mountains.”

“What was it like, living in the mountains?”

“It was home. For the longest time I did not realize that not everyone lived in a castle—and that not every castle sat on a mountain range that moved. Did you ever get a glimpse of the upper terrace of the castle?”

The first time she had visited the castle, she had been in the form of a canary. Usually mages retained no memory of the time they spent in beast form, under a transmogrification spell. But she did on that particular occasion, because then they had been linked by a blood oath.