Stray (5 page)

Both Aislynn and Everett were in need of good marriages to counteract things they could neither change nor control. No wonder Violaine had said they deserved each other.

“Can't imagine you're worse off than me.” Everett looked up at the sky, where millions of stars glittered like crystals. “No land, no home, no house to take a bride to. Our true monarch is unable to protect us, and the new, unwelcomed
ruler
”—his voice was full of disdain—“is not a benevolent one.” He faced Aislynn. “Her husband was a commoner, you know.”

She nodded. Although the Midlands were not recognized as a kingdom, the self-appointed monarch queen had extended her wicked rule as far as it could reach, forcing many Westerners out of their homes when they refused to swear allegiance to her. But Josetta was more than just cruel. She was dangerous, having rejected the Path completely, proudly flaunting her wicked magic.

“When did you leave home?” Aislynn asked.

“Last season.” Everett returned to the edge of the fountain.

“Will you settle here, in the North?”

“If the monarch king grants us land.” He didn't sound very optimistic. “She's building an army, you know, the Wicked Queen,” he continued. “Of royal maidens. Of strays.”

Aislynn recoiled, still feeling Maris's slap on her cheek, still able to hear her bitter slur.

“It's said that they're drawn to her. That she speaks to them in their dreams,” he said.

The Wicked Queen's army must be growing, thought Aislynn. There had always been whispers of girls who had strayed, but lately it seemed as though there was a new girl and a new story with each season.

Swallowing painfully, Aislynn thought of her nightmare, of wolves and their sharp white teeth. The wolves that lived in Josetta's woods.

“Stupid witch,” Everett muttered.

“Do you miss the West?” Aislynn asked, eager to change the subject.

He nodded. “But it doesn't matter,” he sighed, dragging his feet through the pebbles. “I'd still be this way, no matter which kingdom I came from.”

The dust was making Aislynn's eyes water. She coughed as delicately as she could manage. The kicking stopped.

“Sorry.” Everett pushed himself off the fountain edge where he had been leaning. He seemed to be walking an invisible line, with his arms straight out on either side. “I spend most of my time in the stables with the horses and Emil anyway.”

“Who's Emil?” Aislynn watched him walk his imaginary tightrope back and forth, back and forth.

“He's our new stable hand.” The smile that had been hinting at the corners of his mouth dropped away abruptly. “But my parents hate horses. They canceled all my riding lessons. It's for the best, they say.” The exaggerated manner made it clear he was mocking his parents, who, Aislynn knew, always used very proper diction.

“Perhaps it
is
for the best?” Aislynn offered.

“Yes, I suppose you're right,” he said, still frowning.

Suddenly Aislynn heard the squeak of the gate and turned toward the sound. A man was standing in the garden.

“Adviser Hull.” The greeting got lost in her throat, the words nothing more than a wheeze. His white suit gleamed in the moonlight. Aislynn knew she should have not have followed Everett into the garden. A proper young lady was never without a chaperone.

After a long silence, Adviser Hull spoke. “Who is this young man?”

“Everett, formerly of Willowisps, sir.” Everett bowed, but his face showed the same nervousness that Aislynn felt.

“Luring this young man out here so you two could be alone.” The adviser sighed. “Aislynn, I'm disappointed in you.”

“I'm afraid I'm the one at fault—” said Everett, but he was quickly interrupted.

“If Princess Aislynn had listened to her Path, she would never have left the party,” said Adviser Hull, his fingers linked together, as if he was addressing two very young children. “I think it's best that you go back inside, Everett, formerly of Willowisps. Let us hope no one else noticed your . . . disappearance.” He held up a hand before Everett could argue. “I'll escort the princess in myself.”

“Yes, sir.” With embarrassment plastered all over his face, Everett bowed again and quickly retreated from the garden.

Adviser Hull sat down on the edge of the fountain. A quick jolt of dread filled Aislynn as he patted the space next to him. She wanted to be back at the ball, with Everett, with her parents, but she dutifully sat beside him on the cold, unyielding stone.

“You don't have to worry,” he said, his voice calm and smooth. “I am here to guide you.”

It was said that the husband was the ruler of that which could be touched: food, clothing, a home, a bed. One could not hold what advisers offered, yet their domain filled each person like air. They ruled no land or servant and had no wives. They answered only to themselves and the Path. The sacred text said of them, in Advisers 6:34: “An adviser might serve you, worthy king, but have you served him?”

To betray or reject their counsel was unheard of.

Aislynn twisted her fingers together as Adviser Hull continued to speak. “I promise not to tell your parents about this.” He reached for Aislynn's hand, untangling it and running his thumb over her knuckles.

Aislynn knew that she should listen carefully, that she should follow his advice, but she couldn't help the wish that sat on the back of her tongue. The one that wanted him to stop touching her.

She swallowed it down.

“I know that you are dedicated to following your Path, and that is the reason I will keep this interlude a secret from your parents,” Adviser Hull was saying.

His perfectly combed hair was just beginning to gray at the temples, exactly like her father's. But he wasn't anything like her father.

“Naturally this rebellious behavior, on a night so important, concerns me.” He stroked the back of her wrist. “Perhaps you would benefit, as some do, from private meetings, where I can teach you how to better . . . curb your impulses.” His hand moved to her leg.

Aislynn bit her lip and pressed her palm against the cold stone fountain. Magic churned in her heart, and Aislynn stifled a groan as it boiled inside of her, struggling to get out.

“I am very dedicated to your future, Princess. It would do you well to remember that most girls would consider themselves lucky to have not only my support, but my attention.” His finger marked the tip of her nose.

“Please . . .” She tried to speak, tried to warn him as magic shot through her.

For a moment there was nothing. Nothing but the adviser running his finger along the line of her jaw. Then the ground began to shake.

Adviser Hull snatched his hand away and leaped to his feet.

“Stop that immediately,” he commanded, but Aislynn realized with horror that even if she wanted to make it stop, she could not. The magic seemed unending, flowing through her like a river, spreading from the palm of her hand. The fountain gave a loud crack, and ice-cold water drenched her. Where it spilled, the ground heaved and buckled, expelling forth a tangle of thick briars that reached toward Adviser Hull.

The brambles wound their way up the adviser's legs, around his waist, and finally across his struggling arms, their thorny vines pinning his wrists together. As they curled toward his neck, the vines shivered, and roses burst into bloom.

With a tremendous roar, Adviser Hull pulled free, tearing his suit and scratching his hands on the sharp thorns. The sound was so loud and terrible that Aislynn fell backward, and the magic retreated inside of her like a frightened dog. Immediately the shaking ceased and the vines stilled. The only sound was the heavy heave of her breath.

This, like everything, was her fault.

From his pocket, Adviser Hull retrieved a small knife and began to hack away at the brambles around his legs. He glared at Aislynn in the moonlight.

“You stupid girl,” he sneered before stalking away in his shredded and stained suit. Aislynn heard the garden gate slam behind him. She lifted her hands. They were bleeding.

T
he spindle had been cleaned and polished since its last use. Aislynn did her best not to cower as the headmistress removed the long, thick needle from its case and presented it, first to her parents on either side of her, and then to Adviser Hull, who was standing in the corner.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” the queen asked as the spindle's sharp tip caught the light.

“Oh, yes,” said the headmistress. “It is vital for Aislynn to understand the consequences of her actions.”

“Your Majesties,” Adviser Hull interjected coolly. “Madame Odette deals with such . . . transgressions on a regular basis. I assure you that her methods are in accordance with the Path.”

There was no sign that less than an hour ago he had been wrestling with an enchanted rosebush. His white suit was pristine. Even his hair was impeccable. Aislynn could not say the same for her own dress, which was just as stained and soggy as it had been when he left her.

Adviser Hull examined his perfectly shaped nails. “Perhaps a firmer hand with Aislynn would have allowed us all to avoid this unpleasant situation.” With a sigh, he pressed his fingers together. “I believe I warned of such disobedience when you bowed to her tantrums regarding her fairy godmother—against my recommendations.”

It had been those tantrums that had caused most of the damage still visible in Aislynn's bedroom and on her skin. When she had arrived at Nerine, she had longed for comfort and care from her new fairy godmother. Instead she was treated with disinterest and impatience. After months of unintentional destruction, Aislynn had awakened one morning to find Tahlia sitting patiently next to her bed, a cup of tea in hand. How she wished her fairy godmother was here with her now.

With a firm, icy grip, the headmistress snatched Aislynn's left wrist, not seeming to care that it was already riddled with scratches. She pressed the sharp point of the needle against the fleshy pad of one of Aislynn's fingers until the skin gave and a single vibrant drop of blood appeared. Aislynn bit her lip.

“It's hurting her,” said the king.

“If you'd rather leave . . . ,” the headmistress offered coldly as she pricked the next finger.

Aislynn's father shook his head and was quiet.

“I'm afraid I blame myself,” Adviser Hull said, once each of Aislynn's fingers had been pierced and Madame Odette had wiped the blood from the spindle. “I allowed my affection for your family to cloud my judgment.”

“I don't understand.” The queen took Aislynn's hand gingerly.

“Obviously, the occasional occurrence is to be expected—though never encouraged—while a young girl adjusts to the curse. We all have our moments of weakness.” Adviser Hull's smile quickly faded. “But we can no longer overlook Aislynn's . . . stumbling. I know I first mentioned my concern when her initial occurrence happened at such a young age.”

Aislynn watched her father. He looked at the floor. As the only witness to her first occurrence, he knew firsthand the extent of her abilities. When she had reduced a pile of his books to ash, the flames had been so hot that they had singed her hair and burned a hole in his desk. Before, she had been precious and loved, but in that moment she had become someone unfamiliar and strange. Someone to be feared and kept at a distance. Someone unsafe.

Most girls experienced the curse when they were around fourteen or fifteen. Aislynn had been twelve.

Adviser Hull continued. “It is now clear that Aislynn's Path requires Redirection.”

There was silence. “A fairy godmother,” said her father after a few moments.

A roar filled Aislynn's ears, and for a moment it felt as if she was still submerged in the bath, everything around her echoing and distant.

“But she only just turned sixteen,” her mother said frantically. “She hasn't even been Introduced.”

“Waiting until she turns seventeen is callous and unnecessary and would only invite more chaos. Understand that this is for her own protection.” Adviser Hull's voice was firm. “She is in grave danger of straying. According to the headmistress, Aislynn's only friend is a young girl who spent her childhood in the Western Kingdom. While her family escaped from Josetta's grasp, I'm afraid it is likely too late for their daughter.”

“One's kingdom of origin does not determine the surety of one's steps.” The king's voice was steady. Aislynn knew her father was proud to come from the Western Kingdom and refused to allow its current reputation to tarnish his own. She felt sick knowing that her Redirection would only bring him humiliation and shame.

“No, of course not.” The Adviser bowed his head in deference. “I only mention this because the young lady in question has disappeared.”

“We believe Maris has strayed,” the headmistress added.

Aislynn gasped. She remembered what Maris had said—that she would not allow herself to be Redirected. But to become a stray? To abandon the Path and be forever shunned by her family? To be forgotten, completely stricken from memory? She would rather all that than accept life as a fairy godmother?