by I sat in a chair in Milady’s tower. A chair, an actual real chair; House almost never provided those, not when one was young and fit (sort of) and perfectly capable of supporting oneself on one’s own two legs.
Which I wasn’t, entirely. Magickally speaking, I’d been scrambled like a jug of eggs, and the body objects to that sort of thing.
A week had drifted by since Farringale, and I’d experienced very little of it. I’d spent an unconscionable amount of time tucked up in bed, with a stuffed unicorn under my arm and a stack of cosy romance novels at my elbow. I hadn’t spent an entire week at rest since I’d left university.
In that, as Jay so objectionably points out, I’m not so unlike my mother after all.
‘Welcome back, Ves,’ Milady had said, very kindly, when I’d taken my place in the hot seat.
She sounded okay. ‘Thanks?’ I said, my voice breaking a bit. I was nervous.
There was no sign of Mab, of course. Her ladyship consisted, once again, of a glitter in the air and a voice that came from everywhere at once. To hear her talk, you’d think her identity remained the darkest of secrets, known to none but the privileged few (emphatically not including me).
It was a pretence I could go along with.
‘Are you… well?’ said Milady, with a most unfamiliar note of uncertainty in her smooth, measured tones.
‘Mostly?’ I said, a question more than a statement.
‘You performed an astonishing feat of magick,’ said Milady, rather generously. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you are suffering some lingering effects.’
Lingering effects. Typical Milady understatement. I hadn’t been able to walk for three days. I still needed help to make it to the bathroom and back without folding like an ironing board. I kept crying for no reason whatsoever, and I’d flatly refused to be parted from my unicorn cuddly toy. It sat, even now, under my left arm, a soft, fluffy note of comfort in a world I couldn’t process anymore.
‘I—’ I began, and had to pause, take a shuddering breath. ‘I’m—dissatisfied with my performance.’ I managed to get all the syllables out before I dissolved into tears again.
‘And why is that?’ said Milady, still calm. Not the blaze of recrimination that I’d expected, but I was beyond the reach of reassurance at that point.
‘I—I—lost the magick of Merlin,’ I sobbed. ‘All of it. It’s still there in Farringale, down in the earth, and I don’t know how to—get it—back—’
Words failed me after that. Ophelia had been kind about it, on the whole, when I’d told her, but there had been in her face a look of such shock, such utter devastation…honestly, in future I’d rather have to admit to someone that I’d run over their beloved puppy. Or husband.
Milady waited in polite silence while I snivelled, mopped at my nose with a tissue, and—with a few inelegant, gulping breaths—contrived to pull myself together.
Then she said: ‘Ves. Why do you think Merlin’s magick still exists?’
I groped, frantically, for a vaguely intelligent answer, and came up with nothing. ‘I don’t know?’
The air sparkled: amusement, perhaps? ‘It is not merely for longevity’s sake. Those who commit their arts to the care of others—to the future—do so out of love. For magick, and all that magick can do. So. What did you do with this magick that was once Merlin’s?
‘You saved a kingdom. And not just any kingdom: one of the foremast magickal Enclaves in the country. Farringale will thrive, and it’s down, in large part, to you.
‘And it’s more than just that. You’ve proved that it can be done. In future, many more Farringales and Silvessens will be revived, and thrive. The decline of magick is over, Ves. That is the gift you’ve given to Britain—to the world—and I hope you will take pride in it, in time.’
I was crying too hard to reply. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. I haven’t cried half this much since I was six years old. Saving magickal kingdoms reverts a person to childhood, apparently. ‘Great?’ I managed, choking on a fresh wave of tears.
‘Their Majesties of Mandridore couldn’t be more thrilled,’ Milady offered, like a slightly perplexed adult hoping to bribe a sobbing child with a treat. ‘And your esteemed mother—well. Let’s just say that her unique talents are being put to excellent use.’
I could well imagine. Farringale as a hive of industry, speedily being put back together by my mother’s relentless energy and will. Hordes of talented people pulled in from kingdoms and enclaves across the country, united in their desire to drag the ancient troll capital out of the dustbin of history and into the glittering present.
Their Excellent Majesties, King Naldran and Queen Ysurra, had thus far expressed their appreciation for my efforts by way of gigantic bouquets of flowers displayed in every room I was likely to appear in (no fewer than six presently adorned my boudoir). I had received a personal letter of thanks, signed by both, and a vague but firm promise of nameless rewards to be bestowed in the future—I needed only ask.
And I appreciated it all, honestly. But whenever I thought about it, I couldn’t help but see Ophelia’s face, white with shock; her fumbling, devastated attempts to be nice about my casual sacrifice of the oldest magick in England.
Not that I had meant to. I hadn’t known what I was doing—which was typical of me, wasn’t it? Half-crazy Ves, winging it every step of the way. Well, once in a while the results were more devastating than I could ever imagine.
And—more marvellous.
‘Ves,’ said Milady, sensitive, as always, to some intangible sign of my turmoil. ‘I knew Merlin. And I think—I know—he would be proud of what you’ve done.’
I sucked in a shuddering breath, too appalled—and star-struck—to speak, at least for a moment. ‘Are you sure?’ I finally sobbed.
‘Entirely. It’s what he would have wanted.’
I was going to have a considerable cry about that, it seemed, and mercy was I tired of crying. I hoped my shattered nerves would think about recovering themselves pretty soon, or I’d—well, I don’t know. Check myself into a peaceful spa resort for the rest of my natural life, probably.
‘You made a nice tree,’ I said abruptly, apropos of nothing. ‘Fenella, I mean. Lovely.’
A pause; then Milady said, ‘You are wondering why I didn’t do that sooner.’
‘A bit.’
She took a while to reply. At length she said: ‘It is a question of…hope. That even the most…challenging of us might change, might grow. That I won’t have to forcibly deprive the Fenellas of this world of action and agency, because they can be trusted to manage themselves.’
I thought about that. Fenella wasn’t the only person I’d encountered who’d failed, again and again, to “manage themselves”, as Milady put it. ‘Do you regret it?’ I asked, rather daringly.
‘No,’ said Milady, but she hesitated as she said it, almost imperceptibly.
‘I don’t either,’ I agreed, with approximately as much certainty.
‘Get some rest, Ves,’ said Milady, after I’d palpably failed to summon words for a minute or two together. ‘There’s chocolate in the pot.’
***
There was, too. In fact there were three silver pots waiting upon the various desks and tables of my room, each ornately engraved and gently puffing steam. Pup lay curled up on my bed, blissfully asleep, and squeakily snoring.
Jay had awaited me outside the door to Milady’s tower-top room, and escorted me back down again once I’d been gently dismissed. He lent me his nice, strong arm, fussed over me flatteringly when I stumbled a bit on the steps, and thanked House very prettily when we found ourselves transported from the bottom of the stairs straight into my room without further difficulty.
Addie had made her personal displeasure with me very blatant indeed. I’d had to recruit Jay, Zareen and Indira to assist me with the steady delivery of freshly-fried chips for her personal delectation, otherwise I’m certain she would never forgive me for almost obliterating myself. It had taken thirty-three portions to date, and we were still trying.
The grove had been still less welcoming. Oh, not that it had rejected me, or anything so impolite. But I could wander about in it on two legs, now; nothing, it seemed, could restore me to my former status as a member of the herd.
Jay gently assisted me back into bed, and tucked my stuffed unicorn toy back under my arm. He was so very obliging as to plant a firm kiss on my forehead, too. He looked deep into my eyes, and said, with conviction, ‘You are wonderful, and everything is going to be all right.’
I captured one of his hands, and laced his fingers through mine. ‘Have you…’ I began.
He waited, and finally prompted, ‘Yes?’
‘Have you happened to run into Ornelle, lately?’
‘No. But I could.’
I dithered on the borders of confession, and finally broke. ‘I can’t change my hair.’
He glanced, briefly, at the mess of the hair in question, hastily combed with my fingers an hour before, and unchanged in hue since before Farringale. ‘That’s unacceptable,’ he said.
‘I was hoping—I could get my Curiosity back. The ring?’
‘I’ll get it back,’ he promised. ‘We can’t have you confined to a single colour for the rest of your days.’
I wrinkled my nose expressively. ‘Or obliged to—dye it. Do you know how revolting that stuff smells?’
‘I do, yes.’
I raised my brows.
‘Sisters,’ he explained.
I wondered which of Jay’s several sisters had undergone an experimental phase with her hair. Not Indira, anyway. ‘You’re the best,’ I declared sleepily.
Jay stroked my hair. ‘I know.’
Tears threatened again, but I was done with resenting them. I’d survived; I was alive, free to drown in the mess of my own emotions if I wanted to. For a while.
And we’d accomplished something nigh on impossible. We’d saved Farringale. Saved magick, rich and old and strange; the future, as far as I could see it, shone.
I opened my arms to Jay, a wordless request—and offer. A plea and a gift: affection, love, proffered and requested. Whatever the future might bring, I couldn’t imagine it without Jay beside me.
He didn’t hesitate. In another moment he was in my arms, the two of us as close as love could bring us. ‘What do you think we should do next?’ I murmured against his hair.
He smiled; I could feel the joy surge in him. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured, ‘but it had better be something dazzling. I’ve developed high standards.’
I thought that over. ‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘Ply me with sufficient hot chocolate, and I can probably muster something at least a little bit dazzling.’
He did; and I did.
But that’s a story for another time.
