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“You think my dress is magic because I was wearing it…before?” I still didn’t feel comfortable saying “cast a spell”—made me think of the witch inSnow Whitestanding on the cliffside, terrifying in purple-black, lightning flashing around her. The idea that something I’d once touched with magic became magic was not something my teachers had discussed—though they had mentioned that magic fixed in objects was something I could explore later. They hadn’t mentioned magical cocktail carts, or chamber pots and water pails, for that matter, either.
I never asked questions of them, of course. At last Rogue got what he wanted. Too bad he’d missed it.
“Because you wore it the first time your magic manifested. We always save the garments a child is wearing when their magic first comes alive, refashioning it into charms as the fabric wears over time. It’s just tradition—I don’t really understand such things.”
I was beginning to suspect that any time Blackbird avowed ignorance it was a cover for a deeper insight than she wanted to let on.
“Thank you, Lady Blackbird—it means a great deal to me to have this back, regardless of the purpose. And thank you for all this…” I gestured to the clothes. “I hate to sound ungrateful, or cynical, but I’m wondering about the cost?”
Blackbird chuckled, sipping her wine. “No, you don’t owe anything further. You’re receiving credit now for your magical services. I just draw from your accounts.”
“But I thought that my services were paying off a debt.”
“That too.”
“So how can I be both paying a debt and earning credit?”
Starling and Blackbird peered quizzically at me with matching bright eyes.
“Never mind,” I said, “I’ll take your word for it. And the dresses, with grat…appreciation.” I was careful not to kiss anyone—though I wasn’t sure that was what had done it before.
“We’ll leave you then. Come along, Starling, so Lady Gwynn can bathe in peace.”
They left the cocktail cart with me, though I protested that I hardly needed to indulge further. I stood at the window, sipping the lovely warm whiskey, watching the shadows lengthen and turn drowsy, while servants—very normal-looking ones—tromped in and out preparing a bath for me. No magic buckets here, no indoor plumbing, no uncanny silence, just heavy manual labor and a significant servant class. Not that I wanted to argue. I was fine with being one of the waited-upon at this point. Much better than my recent status. Amazing how a little—or a lot of—privation can make you happy to be spoiled.
It seemed to be late summer, by the way the apples hung heavy on the trees. But time also passed in a funny way here, and the air always held a bit of cool which the soft sunlight never quite burned away. It seemed Castle Brightness threw off its own radiance, more pronounced now in the gloaming, as the shadows in the trees darkened and the leaves glinted in reflected golden light.
The shadows moved. There, under the edge of the orchard, glass-black separated from the normal shadows.
The Dog. He paced out and sat below my window, amber eyes shining, torches in the night.
I realized I was holding my breath, caught high in my throat, and that I was grasping my neck with one hand, the carotid pulse under my thumb and fingertips tripping a fast and frantic beat. Hatred and terror roared through me. He opened his mouth in a slavering grin. A little whine escaped my lips.
I flung my glass of whiskey at him. My teachers would have punished me greatly for my unreasoned action, but I was free of them and threw it at him with all the childish fear and anger in my heart. The emotion and my desire to hit him with the glass held it to a true course several stories down, but as it sailed, tumbling end over end scattering whiskey in bright drops, the glass slowed. It righted itself in the air and dropped gracefully to land upright before the Dog, as if set there by an invisible hand. The Dog, blazing eyes locked on mine, bent down and delicately licked out the crystal goblet, then licked his chops, savoring every bit.
He grinned at me again and melted back into the shadows. I stared at the empty dark, but didn’t see him again.
With a mental shake I took hold of myself. Turning back to the room, I breathed out and dropped my hand from my throat. I clasped my wrist instead, the pulse jumping against my thumb. Then I saw that the cocktail cart had produced a new glass for me, just like the one I’d impulsively thrown.
Almost like. On the thin crystal rim glimmered a drop of bright blood.
Chapter 13
In Which I Run Off to Join the Circus
‡
“Explain the giftthing to me,” I said to Starling and Blackbird.
We stood in the bright morning light of the castle courtyard, while the glittering birds swirled amidst the pennants above. Starling had just presented me with an elaborately woven headband of gold wire studded with emerald-like stones, to hold my hair back from my face. Her own hair dazzled the eye, a lovely blond that shimmered with platinum glints.
Both women looked at me with consternation.
“Why can you give me a gift and I can’t give you one?”
“Lady Sorceress,” Blackbird said, “you honor us by accepting what we offer you. You…elevate us.” She patted Starling’s shoulder. “And no worries, when our daughter reaches her majority, we’ll send her to finish her service to you.”
“I’m not worried. I look forward to seeing you again, Starling. Thank—I enjoyed our afternoon together. Very much.”
