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“I doubt there is forgiveness for that heinous a transgression. Mayhap the king will remove Jason’s head. Then you, Marianna, will be able to wed whomever you wish, or rather whomever the king wishes. I really do not care, for I will have the silver. If Jason claims it was all my plan, that I have the silver coins, why, he is a liar. I am the renowned Abbess of Meizerling.”
Helen looked down at the pathetic scrap that came from her womb. Just look at that violent red hair of hers, the loosely braided plaits now unraveling. Wicked, that hair, just like Elevine’s hair, that iniquitous witch who was her own mother, who’d misjudged a substance and blown herself apart in an explosion. But not before she’d taught Helen everything she knew. What about Marianna? She had not an ounce of magick in her, Helen had known that since she first held the babe in her arms. She could scent magick, smell the essence of it in the air, and there was nothing coming from the babe. Ella had assured her Marianna was a clever child, and she’d never shown a flicker of natural magick, she’d said, then crossed herself. Clever? Helen wasn’t certain if Ella’s observation pleased her or not. Hadn’t Ella also told her Marianna had learned to read more quickly than Helen had? But she hadn’t believed her. She wanted to blight the old bitch, but she held her anger in since she needed her. Ella was her only tie to Valcourt.
Merry watched her mother, wondered what she was thinking. Reason with her, convince her that this grand scheme of hers cannot work. “I assume you have spies at court and they told you I am to marry Garron of Kersey today, not only with the king’s blessing, but in his presence. Or is Jason of Brennan skulking about and he told you? I wonder if he realized that the queen herself is overseeing my wedding gown? Mayhap he didn’t know the Bishop of London will officiate? You must realize, Mother, that the king is going to be very angry when I am discovered missing. Do you really wish to risk the king’s anger? He could easily remove you from Meizerling and exile you to France, or behead both you and Jason of Brennan.” Were they to ask me, I would tell them to behead the both of you, but she didn’t say it aloud.
“You have kidnapped me from the White Tower, from under the king’s very nose. Garron will know it was you, you have not fooled anyone. If you do not r
eturn me, you must realize that your days will be numbered, madam. Garron will kill you, just as I know he will kill Jason of Brennan.”
It’s working, it’s working, she’s getting worried, I can see it in her eyes. She’s beginning to question herself now.
Merry pressed on, hope filling her now. “Let me tell you about Garron of Kersey, Mother. He is strong and skilled and does not suffer betrayal. He cares for me, madam, truly. Anyone who commits a great wrong against him is wise to fear for his life. He will find me, and you will be in very bad trouble. I do not believe you have given this sufficient thought.”
She’d spoken reasonably, fluently, her logic impeccable. Her father would have been proud of her. To her chagrin, her mother actually laughed. “You know so very little, you foolish girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that whatever happened in the White Tower, I have already changed it into what I wished—like that.” And she snapped her fingers in Merry’s face.
“That makes no sense. I was kidnapped, it happened. All know if something happens, it becomes the past, and no one can change what happened yesterday. Indeed, how can you change anything at all?”
Helen, aware her daughter was following her every move, shook out her beautiful hair, like spun gold, she’d heard both men and women say, smoothed down the soft folds of her white gown, and walked to a long table covered with books. She opened one and read aloud:“Those who come will turn and leave.
Those who leave will never know
Why they left and where they go.
“Those words are but the beginning to a spell written a very long time ago, even before the Romans came to our rain-soaked island. It sounds clever, don’t you think? Does it frighten you, Marianna? And that is only the beginning of the spell. Don’t look so witless. You have heard all your life that I am a witch. It is quite true. I could rule England if I so chose. And there is more, so much more.”
Merry saw fire building in her mother’s beautiful eyes, a deep fire that looked into hearts and brains and cared not if the heart broke or the brain died. How can you have birthed me? You look like my older sister, not my mother. Did you cast a magick spell on me so I am seeing you the way you wish me to? Or have you swallowed potions to actually make yourself ageless?
It didn’t matter. Merry was so afraid of this woman she felt she might choke on it.
“You look quite stupid, Marianna. Have you nothing sensible to say? Ella told me you never shut your mouth, that you asked endless questions, of everyone, until your father boasted you knew more about shoeing a horse than the smithy. But you never asked about magick.”
“Why should I?”
“You heard whispers about me from your earliest years, do not deny it.”
“Aye, I did, but it had no meaning to me since you had no meaning to me. You left me. You said that Ella told you these things about me. It appears I did not know her. Did she betray me and Father?”
“Betrayal is nothing compared to loyalty. Loyalty is what counts, what has meaning. Ella came with me to Valcourt when I wed your father. She insisted upon remaining at Valcourt when I left, with you, so I would know you as well as she did. Ella has always owed me her loyalty.”
Merry pictured the old woman’s face, sure Ella had loved her, hadn’t she? Merry wanted to cry, but she didn’t.
She looked at the beautiful woman who held an ancient book in her white hands, held it as gently as one would a babe, or a lover. She slowly rose from the cot. “I am leaving now, Mother.”
“No, you will not.”
Merry walked to the door. She reached out her hand to grip the bronze knob, then she simply stopped. She couldn’t move. No, no, this was not possible. She closed her eyes a moment, then tried to bring her arm back to her side. Her arm didn’t move. She tried to take a step back. Nothing. It was as if she were being held by something she could not see. She concentrated on her hand, but her body seemed apart from her, not in her control. Her fingers simply wouldn’t obey her.
“Let me go.”
36
She knew her mother was smiling, possibly smirking behind her. “Oh no, you will go nowhere unless I decide you will. How does it feel to be my puppet? Shall I pull one of the strings that controls you?”
Merry looked at the bronze knob not six inches from her outstretched fingers. Were those her fingers? Was her mother controlling her, or was it something else? What did it matter?
