Stray (23 page)

Aislynn could still remember the look on Maris's face, black hair spread across her fair shoulders, her bare feet slapping against the courtyard. . . . No. There was a sour taste on the back of Aislynn's tongue. She must be remembering that wrong. How would Josetta have been able to send Maris's shoes to her parents if she hadn't been wearing them?

The sour taste grew stronger as Aislynn remembered Thackery's story about Madame Moira. How she had hacked off the toe of her former fairy godmother. And hadn't she been present the night of Maris's disappearance? Again Aislynn shook her head.

It didn't make sense. The headmistress was charged with keeping girls on the Path, not helping them stray. The Wicked Queen was known for her brutality; there was no reason to think it didn't extend to those who joined her. Willingly or not.

Looking out toward the gardens, Aislynn could only hope that Thackery would continue to evade Josetta's grasp. Her heart ached at the thought that he might be captured and there would be nothing she could do about it. Just as there was nothing to be done for poor Maris.

The moon was bright overhead as they ran. Their feet made no sound against the moss, and Aislynn knew she could run forever. Her body hurt, but it was a good kind of hurting, as if she were using parts of herself that had been long forgotten
.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the wolf, its coat like starlight. She wanted to go faster. Taking a breath so deep she thought she had inhaled the night, Aislynn ran. And the wolf ran beside her
.

P
reparations for the ball and Linnea's wedding reached a new frenzy. With each day came baskets of lace, bolts of red satin, and an especially crabby kitchen servant. A permanent frown fixed to her face, Brigid practically snarled at any mention of the word “wedding,” so Aislynn was careful to watch what she said around her.

The amount of work that needed to be done was staggering. It seemed that Aislynn's responsibility had shifted from tending to the monarch princess's daily needs to following behind her with quill and paper, recording her ideas for the celebration. Every day they seemed to go through at least five rolls of parchment, outlining everything from table decorations to music.

Of course, everything that Linnea suggested needed to be approved by Adviser Lennard, who was now staying at Elderwood so he could keep a more careful eye on the preparations and his ward.

Aislynn welcomed the distraction. If she wasn't careful, she would catch herself thinking about Thackery. Most often she worried about his safety and wondered where he was, but sometimes she allowed herself to picture him, his smile and those green eyes, and her stomach would hurt and she would usually feel so dizzy that she needed to sit down. Everything she felt now seemed sharper and often more painful.

It was his eyes she was trying not to think about when she returned to her room one evening to discover an envelope on her bed, addressed to her in her father's handwriting. Aislynn suddenly missed her family so much that it was hard to breathe.

There were two letters inside the envelope, one written in Adviser Hull's thick, blocky writing and one in her father's hand. Wanting to save her father's for last, she quickly read the adviser's terse note.

Due to a series of petitions set forth by the King and Queen of Nepeta, you have been granted permission to experience the remainder of your sixteenth year in your former position as a maiden. I will present the king with a list of potential suitors, and you will be given a formal Introduction at the autumn ball held at Nyssa Academy
.

Aislynn sat there, stunned beyond words or logic. Petitions? Her former position as a maiden? Quickly she snatched up her father's letter.

Dear Daughter
,

The adviser has allowed you to rejoin us for the remainder of your year. Your mother will arrive at Elderwood on the morning of the autumn ball to assist you, and I shall join you at Nyssa Academy to escort you. I have no doubt you will make a dazzling entrance
.

Your loving father

Aislynn sat with the letters in her lap, unable to move.

Another chance. She was being given another chance. This was her opportunity for ever after—she should be overjoyed. Yet she felt as if she was going to faint.

Redirection was permanent, was it not? As she sat there, Aislynn realized she could not recall anything in
The Path
that explicitly declared that it was. But she also could not remember anything like this ever happening before.

What had she done to deserve it? Adviser Hull's letter mentioned petitions, but surely it couldn't be as simple as that. Aislynn's parents couldn't have been the first to want their daughter's situation reassessed.

Her head began to spin and then, suddenly, settled. Her parents. She would be able to see her family again. And Tahlia. She could go home. She would have suitors and marry and have her freedom once again. Excitement welled up inside of her.

All at once it seemed very important to see what she looked like. After all these months hidden in flowing robes and itchy fabric, avoiding mirrors and eating whatever she desired . . . Linnea would still be at dinner with Westerly. Her room would be empty. Aislynn went through their shared door and sat down at the vanity. Carefully she removed her wimple and set it to one side. She unbraided her hair. Then she looked in the mirror.

She looked tired. Her face was softer and her eyes bigger. Her hair was wild. All excitement quickly left her, and she felt, as she always had, not quite good enough. Not quite right.

Something glittered in her eyes. Something dangerous. Something Aislynn thought she recognized from paintings and tapestries. She looked like a girl who wanted things. But what did she want? Was it the life she had been forced to leave behind? Or was it something else?

Aislynn dropped her head into her hands. When she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, she leaped to her feet and found Linnea standing there.

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty.” She snatched up her wimple and hastily pulled it over her head.

“No, wait,” Linnea grabbed at her arm, her eyes bright. “The headmistress told me.” When Aislynn only blinked, she continued excitedly. “About the ball. About you.”

“Oh, yes. The ball.”

“It's just wonderful!” Linnea was glowing with enthusiasm. “I've always wished you didn't have to hide away in the corner. Now we can go to the ball together!” Linnea turned her full attention to the mirror. “By the glass slipper,” she breathed, looking at their reflections. “I never noticed how pretty you are.”

“I think that's the point.” Aislynn responded drily, and Linnea laughed, the bright sound lightening the mood. It had been so long since things had felt friendly and easy between them.

“Yes, I suppose you're right.” Linnea sighed wistfully. “Just think how romantic it would be for your suitor . . . what was his name again?”

“Everett,” said Aislynn quietly.

“Just think how awfully romantic it would be if Everett swept you off your feet!”

“Yes, it would be awfully romantic.”

Aislynn told herself to be happy, but all she could think about was the girl in the mirror, the girl who no longer knew what she wanted.

A
dviser Lennard replaced Aislynn with a temporary fairy godmother, promising Linnea a permanent one as soon as he could manage it. The new fairy godmother was a woman nearly as unpleasant as Madame Moira, and she didn't look too kindly on Aislynn's attempts to visit Linnea. Even if she had, the monarch princess had very little free time, whereas Aislynn had entirely too much.

It didn't make sense for her to continue her fairy godmother training, and the headmistress felt that to include her in royal courses would be too distracting for the others. A few of her old dresses had been sent to Elderwood, but Aislynn chose to wear her purple robes, though without the itchy wimple.

She was no longer permitted to eat with the rest of the fairy godmothers, so she mostly kept to her room, curled up on her bed, wishing for time to pass, reciting bread recipes in her head to keep all other thoughts at bay.

The day before the autumn ball, she was called to Madame Moira's study. With the leaves on the trees falling rapidly and the air puffing soft, early warnings of winter into the face of anyone who ventured outside, the headmistress's small, dark study should have felt cozy. Instead it was cold and airless.

Several large boxes were stacked on Madame Moira's desk, each tied with a blue silk ribbon.

“Your ballgown,” said the headmistress, her voice flat. “And other necessary items. They arrived this morning. One of the servants will bring them to your room.”

“Thank you, Headmistress.”

“Brigid will be assisting you,” Madame Moira said, and Aislynn was surprised. She had assumed that Tahlia would be coming along with her parents. “Your mother will arrive in the afternoon, though it is expected that you will be dressed and your trunk packed before then.”

The headmistress placed her hands on the desk and stood. “You will not be returning to Elderwood after the ball. You will return home with your parents. However, if you are not able to secure a marriage proposal by the end of the season, you will once again be Redirected.” Madame Moira smiled. It was a terrible sight. “I've heard the academies in the West are always needing new teachers.”

The words seemed to come from far away, and all Aislynn could do was nod. She had just begun to accept the reversal in her fortunes, being able to return home and marry, reaching ever after. Yet it could all still be undone.

“May I be excused?” she asked when it became clear that the headmistress had nothing more to say to her.

“Please,” Madame Moira urged, her dark eyes unblinking.

Aislynn stumbled out the back door into a flurry of leaves, which were dancing a waltz with the gusty wind. Her purple robes billowing around her, she tucked her chin to her chest and headed toward the stables.

As she approached, she heard voices and the soft round
clop
of hooves. She wandered around to the back of the stables, where she found Brigid seated on a bale of hay, watching Ford lead a foal around in a circle. Brigid glanced up, and for the first time in days, smiled. She patted the space next to her.

Aislynn settled onto the hay and sat in silence, the air thick with unsaid things. Linnea's wedding. The headmistress's threat. Brigid and Ford's inevitable departure. And, of course, Thackery.

Ford looped around again with the speckled foal, raising his fingers to his hat in greeting.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Brigid asked.

Aislynn didn't know how to answer. “Nervous” wasn't the word she'd use to describe how she felt. She knew she should be nervous and excited and lots of other things, but she wasn't. She just felt . . . numb.

“Why should I be nervous?” Aislynn asked with false bravery. “It's only one night.”

Brigid gave her a small smile and shook her head. “No, it's not.” And she was right. Tomorrow changed everything.

The headmistress's words finally sank in. Everything she would regain tomorrow night could be taken from her just as quickly. Aislynn began to tremble. She could lose it all again.

Brigid reached out and took Aislynn's hand. She held on tight, and the gesture was like an anchor, tethering Aislynn to the earth.

Looking down at their hands, Aislynn noticed that Brigid's sleeve had been pulled back, revealing her wrist and the red mark that marred her skin.

Aislynn thought of her own scars, ugly and numerous. The ones on her legs would be well covered, first with stockings, then with layers of crinoline and satin—but she would be unable to hide her arms from the person sent to help her dress.

“I need to show you something,” Aislynn said, removing her hand from Brigid's. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing the two scars on her arm. “They don't hurt.” It seemed important to say that. “And I'm not showing you so you'll feel sorry for me,” Aislynn said, letting the fabric fall back to her wrist. “I need you to help me hide them tomorrow night.”