Stray (10 page)

Aislynn shouldn't have been surprised by the monarch princess's suspicious gaze. Most young ladies kept their fairy godmothers at arm's length, and with good reason. Their loyalty was not to their ward, but to the leader of the household, whether that be a girl's father, an academy's headmistress, or a spouse.

Once a girl was married, it was the responsibility of the fairy godmother to report any occurrences, and while some instances of magic before matrimony were tolerated, any indication that a married woman was stumbling along her Path was taken very seriously. Under the guidance of his adviser, a husband could revoke his vows and have his wife Redirected.

“What have you heard about me?” Linnea demanded.

“I . . . uh . . . ,” Aislynn stammered.

“I'm sure you've heard something,” the monarch princess said. “Everyone has.”

Aislynn's mind seemed to spin away from her, a top without a string. The story of Queen Morganne and King Dominick was one so tragic and beautiful that people couldn't help but bring it up when conversations turned to such topics. Aislynn's mother had a particular fondness for it, as she did for all tragic and beautiful tales.

According to the story, they had been a handsome couple, deeply in love, deeply happy. Queen Morganne had been the youngest of several girls, all of whom had once been very close. But as they grew older, it was clear that while Linnea's mother was finding her ever after, her eldest sister was straying further and further from the Path, pulled by dark jealousy for her youngest sibling. When Morganne married, Josetta began to show her true side—her cursed side—and King Dominick refused to welcome her into his home, even when his daughter was born.

Furious at being excluded, Josetta used magic to get past the guards, with the intent of stealing the infant and raising Linnea away from the Path. When Morganne refused to give her up, the queen was brutally murdered. Before Josetta and her huntsmen could abduct the child, however, the king intercepted them. It was only through magic that Josetta had managed to escape, fleeing to her wicked kingdom.

The poor king died soon after, his heart broken.

“I've heard that your mother was beautiful and your father very devoted to her,” Aislynn offered.

“Is that all?” It was clear now that Linnea was testing her new fairy godmother, and it seemed as if Aislynn had failed. “I think you're lying. They've told you everything, haven't they?” Linnea sniffed and began to turn away.

“No,” Aislynn said, surprising herself. “Truth and honesty, they didn't tell me you were so short.” She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.

The room was quiet, and then, to Aislynn's surprise, the monarch princess let out a snort, which grew into a full laugh. Aislynn felt a flicker of warmth at the sound, but it quickly faded, swallowed by the chill that had spread through her. She curled her cold hands into fists.

When the giggles subsided, Linnea, with a genuine smile on her face, waved a hand toward the dresser. “Well then, hand me my hair ribbons, won't you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Caught in the reflection of Linnea's mirror, Aislynn saw herself for the first time that day. She was barely recognizable, swathed entirely in purple, with only a tiny triangle of her face showing. And in that triangle was a pair of huge brown eyes. Aislynn expected them to look different, dulled somehow, but they didn't. They looked as they always did. Lost and a little sad.

“You should be an excellent source of advice when it comes to these parties I'm going to be attending.” Linnea's voice startled Aislynn out of her thoughts. “You've been to a few, haven't you?”

Aislynn looked away from the mirror. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Brigid had begun to tie Linnea's curls into ribboned pigtails, making her look even younger. “I'll need you to tell me all about them.” Eagerness lit the monarch princess's eyes. “Every single detail you can remember. I want to be as prepared as possible. Let's begin with the decorations.”

Aislynn smiled, remembering that she had demanded the same of her parents after each party they attended. But she also knew that there were no proper words to describe how it had felt to walk into a ballroom for the first time, how her heart had felt like a candle flame, shimmering and bright. How she could never remember anything about that first party except the way the punch had tasted—fresh and sweet—and how no punch had ever tasted that good again. She was still unsure of what she would say when she was interrupted by the sound of the first bell.

“Well, I suppose we'll have to discuss it another time,” the monarch princess said sadly. Turning back to examine her hair in the mirror, she gave a sigh too great for someone of her beauty and wealth, but just right for a girl waiting for her first ball.

A
islynn concentrated on the cup of tea in front of her. It had been twenty minutes since the teacher had instructed the class to bring their water to a boil, and Aislynn's was still ice cold. But a glance around the room revealed that each of her fellow fairy godmothers was squinting at her own teacup with the same determination—and a similar poor result. Aislynn raised her hand tentatively, leaving it up until she caught her teacher's attention.

“Do you have a question?” Madame Posey was a robust woman, and she moved like someone who was not quite aware of the space she took up, knocking against desks and students' shoulders as she made her way to the back of the room.

“I'm just not sure how to make it boil,” said Aislynn in a low voice. Though none of the other girls had found any success, she still felt as if she was missing some important information or direction. As if she was doing something wrong.

“You must concentrate.” The teacher repeated the only instruction she had given when the class first began.

“Concentrate?” Aislynn asked confused. “Should I be thinking about magic?”

“No! Don't think about magic.” Madame Posey gave a nervous laugh, glancing around as if she hoped no one had heard Aislynn's question. “We are trying to protect you, you foolish girl.” She now sounded annoyed. “Think of the tea. Think of what you want it to do.” As Aislynn looked blankly up at her, the teacher's eyebrows slanted downward, her frustration evident. “Think of the tea, Aislynn,” Madame Posey repeated. “Concentrate on it, but think of the Path too. It will help guide you.”

Aislynn was baffled. How was she supposed to think of using magic without actually thinking about magic? She had spent so much time trying to keep herself from having occurrences, she never imagined she'd someday be trying to encourage one.

Her entire day had been like this. She had been told that until she performed the requisite task in the presence of a teacher, she was not allowed to use magic outside of the classroom. Therefore she was required to learn how to do many of her chores by hand and had spent the morning being taught how to make beds and darn socks and dust furniture. Her head felt so full of new information that she was afraid it would crack open like a pumpkin, thoughts spilling everywhere like pale oval seeds.

Focusing her gaze on the tea, she pictured tiny flames bubbling underneath it. Nothing.

Next to her cup was the pocket-sized manual she had been given that morning. Though there were spells listed, there were no instructions there either. The book mostly outlined, in detail, exactly which of Aislynn's daily fairy godmother tasks permitted magic and which did not. Heating tea or bathwater with magic was allowed. Arranging hair or fastening buttons was not—as magic in front of a royal maiden was strictly off limits. Which meant that when Tahlia had healed Aislynn's hands in the kitchen, she had broken the rules.

Aislynn couldn't help thinking of her fairy godmother now, reminded of the first time Tahlia had taught her how to bake in the kitchen back home. But the memory had been stripped bare. Aislynn could see the familiar walls and uneven floorboards, but she couldn't feel anything. Not the heat of the oven, not the warmth of the dough in her hands, and not even the excitement she had experienced when Tahlia had removed the finished loaf from the pan.

Suddenly she was furious. Furious at Adviser Hull for Redirecting her. Furious at her parents for letting her go. And furious at herself for being completely and utterly useless. All these years of powerful occurrences, and now, when she needed to, when she was expected to, she couldn't conjure enough magic to heat one simple cup of water.

Then Aislynn's nose filled with the scent of bread, the memory of Tahlia baking entering her mind like a burst of color, and she could smell the cinnamon and sugar as if she was pulling the bread from the oven at that very moment. And deep within her chest, her kettle heart began to warm.

Wrapping her fingers around the teacup, Aislynn focused on the still water. She did what Madame Posey had instructed and thought about the tea, concentrated on the tea. A tiny bubble rose from the bottom of the cup, popping as it reached the surface. It was followed by another and another until the water in the teacup was bubbling steadily, a soft halo of steam floating above it.

Aislynn glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but all of her classmates remained focused on their own cups, their heads down.

The water bubbled more frantically, the hot cup burning her fingers, and it began to rattle against the table. Aislynn tried to calm her thoughts and stop the boiling, but it just got worse. Some of the fairy godmothers glanced over and shrieked as they were sprayed with drops of scalding water. The commotion alerted Madame Posey, who rushed to the back of the room, displacing chairs and students as she ran.

“What have you done?” she demanded.

Aislynn had no answer as a final burst of magic surged through her, causing the teacup to explode in her hands. Shards of porcelain flew across the room, striking several other fairy godmothers, who started wailing. Madame Posey wiped water from her cheek and glared down at Aislynn.

“You'll be washing dishes tonight and for the next month,” she said. The room was full of angry faces. “And I'll be reporting this to the headmistress.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Aislynn carefully gathered what she could of the shattered teacup, her hands nearly blistered and soaking wet.

The kitchen was lit with a large lantern, but the light was not bright enough to fill the room. Uneasy shadows crawled along the walls. It appeared that everyone in the castle was asleep but Aislynn.

Crowding the counter was a seemingly endless pile of dishes. Aislynn picked up a plate encrusted with gravy and potatoes and realized that she had no idea how to properly wash a dish. Before today, she would have assumed there was nothing to it, but after spending a morning failing to make a bed correctly, Aislynn no longer had confidence in any of her assumptions.

Turning on the faucet, she plugged the sink and poured some soap into the cold water. She scrubbed the plate a couple of times with a rag, but the food didn't budge. Instead her sleeves got wet and soapy.

“It's easier if you roll them up,” said Brigid, entering the kitchen.

Startled, Aislynn dropped the rag and plate; both disappeared into the mountain of bubbles in the sink. She attempted to roll up her sleeves past her elbows, but they were too big and kept sliding back down to her wrists. Shaking her head, Brigid seemed to take pity on her as she grabbed the material and, with a graceful twist, tied each sleeve back into a neat little bow. It was such a small kindness, but it warmed Aislynn like a blanket, the chill inside her dropping away, if only for a brief moment.

“There,” said Brigid, and rolled up her own sleeves. Around each of her wrists was a thin red line, almost like a bracelet that had been drawn across her skin with a quill. Aislynn had never seen anything like it, but quickly looked away as Brigid dipped her arm into the sink and pulled the plug. Once it had drained, Brigid turned on the hot water. As the sink filled, steam rose above it, drawing wispy designs in the air.

Soon the kitchen was warm and fragrant from the soap. Aislynn watched carefully as Brigid pulled a plate from the enormous pile of dishes. Dunking it into the water, she removed the crumbs and stains with a graceful swoop of her rag before handing it to Aislynn.

“Why don't you dry?” she said, gesturing to some dry cloths.

They worked in silence, Brigid speeding through her pile and Aislynn struggling to keep up. Every once in a while, she sneaked a look at the thin red marks around the servant girl's wrists, wondering what they were for. It didn't take long for Brigid to notice her staring.

“Have they taught you this charm yet?” she asked, lifting her hands.

Embarrassed at being caught, Aislynn could only shake her head.

“They will,” Brigid continued. “How else can a master keep his peasants in line?”

The servants at Nerine Academy and back home in Nepeta must have always worn their sleeves rolled down. Or perhaps Aislynn had never noticed. It made sense though, that the custody spell left a physical mark. One quick look, and you could see which peasants were safe and which were wild. She wondered if it hurt. It looked as though it did.