A Great And Terrible Beauty (28 page)

“Your mother is lovely,” Ann says as she slips under her covers.

“Thank you,” I whisper, running a brush through my hair. The dancing—and the subsequent fall in the grass—has left it tangled beyond hope, like my thoughts.

“I don’t remember my mother at all. Do you think that’s terrible?”

“No,” I say.

Ann is nearly asleep, her words a low mumble. “I wonder if she remembers me. . . .”

I start to answer but I don’t know what to say to that. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. She’s snoring already. I give up on the brushing and slide under my own blankets, only to feel something crackle beneath me. I feel around with my hand and discover a note hidden in the covers. I have to take it to the window to read it.

Miss Doyle,

You are playing a very dangerous game. If you do not stop now, I shall be forced to take action. I am asking you to stop while you can.

There’s another word scribbled hastily, then crossed out.

Please.

He hasn’t signed his name, but I know this is Kartik’s work. I tear the note into tiny pieces. Then I open the window and let the breeze take it.

FOR
THREE
DAYS
,
IT’S
LIKE
THIS
. WE
HOLD
HANDS
AND
step into our own private paradise, where we are the mistresses of our own lives. Under the tutelage of the huntress, Felicity is becoming an accomplished archer, fleet and unstoppable. Ann’s voice grows stronger every day. And Pippa isn’t quite the pampered princess she was a week ago. She’s kinder, less shrill. The knight listens to her as no one else does. I’ve always been so irritated when Pippa opens her mouth, I haven’t stopped to think she may babble on because she’s afraid she won’t be heard. I vow to give her that chance from now on.

We’re not afraid to grow close to each other here. Our friendships take root and bloom. We wear garlands in our hair, tell naughty jokes, laugh and shout, confess our fears and our hopes. We even belch without restraint. There’s no one around to stifle us. No one to tell us that what we think and feel is wrong. It isn’t that we do what we want. It’s that we’re allowed to want at all.

“Watch this!” Felicity says. She closes her eyes and in a moment, a warm rain falls from that perpetual sunset. It wets us through to the skin, and it feels delicious.

“Not fair in the least!” Pippa screams, but she’s laughing.

I’ve never felt such lovely rain. Certainly I’ve never been allowed to wallow in it. I want to drink it up, lie in it.

“Aha!” Felicity shouts in triumph. “I made this! I did!”

We screech and run, slipping down into pools of mud and back up again. Coated in muck, we throw handfuls of it at each other. Each time one of us is hit with a great heaping mound of wet earth, we yelp and vow revenge. But truthfully, we’re in love with how it feels to be absolutely filthy, without a care in the world.

“I’m a bit soggy,” Pippa calls after we’ve thoroughly trounced her. She’s covered in mud from head to toe.

“All right, then.” I close my eyes, imagine the hot sun of India, and in seconds, the rain has gone. We’re clean, dry, and pressed, ready for vespers or a social call. Beyond the silver arch, inside their wide circle, the crystal runes stand, their power locked securely inside.

“Wouldn’t it be grand to show them all what we could do?” Ann muses aloud.

I take her hand, and when I do, I notice her wrist has no new marks, only the fading scars of past injuries.

“Yes, it would.”

We sprawl out in the grass, heads together, like a great windmill. And we lie like this for a very long time, I think, holding each other’s hands, feeling our friendship in thumbs and fingers, in the sure, solid warmth of skin, until someone gets the bright idea to make it rain again.

“Tell me again how the magic of the runes works.” I’m lying in the grass next to Mother, watching the clouds in their metamorphoses. A fat, puffy duck is losing the good fight, stretching into something else.

“It works through months and years of training,” Mother responds.

“I know that. But what happens? Do they chant? Speak in tongues? Do the runes sing ‘God Save the Queen’ first?” I’m being saucy, but she’s provoked me.

“Yes. In E flat.”

“Mother!”

“I believe I explained that part.”

“Tell me again.”

“You touch your hands to the runes and the power enters you. It lives inside you for a while.”

“That’s it?”

“The gist, yes. But you first have to know how to control it. It’s influenced by your state of mind, your purpose, your strength. It’s powerful magic. Not to be toyed with. Oh, look, I see an elephant.”

Overhead, the duck blob has become something resembling a blob with a trunk.

“It has only three legs.”

“No, there’s a fourth.”

“Where?”

“It’s right there. You’re just not looking.”

“I am so!” I say, indignant. But it doesn’t matter. The cloud is moving, changing into something else. “How long does the magic last?”

“Depends. For a day. Sometimes less.” She sits up and peers down at me. “But Gemma, you are—”

“Not to use the magic yet. Yes, I believe you mentioned that once or twice.”

Mother is quiet for a moment. “Do you really believe you’re ready?”

“Yes!” I practically shout.

“Take a look at that cloud up there. The one just above us. What do you see?”

I see the outline of ears and a tail. “A kitten.”

“You’re certain?”

She is taxing me. “I do know a kitten when I see one. That doesn’t require any magical powers.”

“Look again,” Mother says.

Above us, the sky is in turmoil. The clouds swirl and crackle with lightning. The kitten is gone and what emerges in its place is a menacing face from a nightmare. It shrieks down toward us till I have to bury my eyes behind my arm.

“Gemma!”

I take my arm away. The sky is calm. The kitten is now a large cat.

“What was that?” I whisper.

“A demonstration,” Mother says. “You have to be able to see what’s really there. Circe will try to make you see a monster when there is only a kitten, and vice versa.”

I’m still shaking. “But it seemed so real.”

She takes my hand in hers and we lie there, not moving. In the distance, Ann is singing an old folk song, something about a lady selling cockles and mussels. It’s a sad song and it makes me feel strange inside. As if I’m losing something but I don’t know what.

“Mother, what if I can’t do this? What if it turns out all wrong?”

The clouds bunch together and thin out. Nothing’s taking shape yet.

“That’s a chance we have to take. Look.”

Above us, the clouds have spread themselves into a wispy ring with no beginning, no end, and in the center is a perfect circle of absolute blue.

On Friday, I receive a surprise visit. My brother is waiting for me in the parlor. A gaggle of girls is inventing reasons to walk past so that they can peek in at him. I close the doors behind me, cutting Tom off from his admiring flock before my nausea overtakes me.

“Well, if it isn’t my lady Dour!” Tom says, standing. “Have you managed to find me a suitable wife yet? I’m not picky—just someone pretty, quiet, with a small fortune and her own teeth. Actually, I am flexible on all points but the small fortune. Unless, of course, it’s a large one.”

For some reason, the sight of Tom, reliable, snobby, shallow Tom, fills me with good cheer. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him. I throw my arms around him. He stiffens for a second, then hugs me back.

“Yes, well, they must be treating you like a dog if you’re glad to see me. I must say you’re looking well.”

“I feel well, Tom. Truly.” I want so much to tell him about Mother, but I know I can’t. Not yet. “Have you heard from Grandmother? How’s Father?”

Tom’s smile slips. “Oh, yes. They’re doing well.”

“Will he come for Assembly Day? I can’t wait to see him again, and introduce him to all my friends here.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up yet, Gemma. He might not be able to get away just now.” Tom adjusts his cuffs. It’s a nervous habit. Something I’ve begun to realize he does only when he lies.

“I see,” I say quietly.

There’s a knock at the door and Ann pushes through, eyes wide. She’s shocked that I’m in the parlor alone with a man. She covers her eyes with her hand to block her view of us. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I only wanted to let Gemma, Miss Doyle, know that we’re ready to practice our waltzing.”

“I can’t just now. I have a visitor.”

Tom stands, relieved. “Don’t neglect your waltzing on my account. I say, are you all right?” He’s squinting at Ann, who is still averting her eyes.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” I mutter under my breath. I make the necessary introductions. “Miss Ann Bradshaw, may I present Mr. Thomas Doyle? My
brother
. I’ll just show him out and then we can get to our infernal waltzing.”

“That was your brother?” Ann asks shyly while I’m gliding her around the ballroom.

“Yes. The beast himself.” I’m still a bit ruffled by the news about Father. I’d hoped by now he’d be on the mend.

“He seems very kind.” Ann steps on both my feet and I wince in pain.

“Tom? Ha! He never opens his mouth except to put on airs. He’s insufferably impressed with himself. Pity the girl who gets him.”

“Still, I think he seems very nice. A true gentleman.”

God in heaven. She likes my brother. It’s so laughable that it’s somewhere beyond comedy and right into tragedy again.

“Is he . . . engaged to anyone?”

“No. No one seems to measure up to his first love.”

Ann’s face falls. She stops without warning and I twist uncomfortably before springing back to her side. “Oh?”

“Himself.”

It takes her a minute to get the joke, but then she laughs and blushes some more. I haven’t the heart to tell her that Tom’s looking for a rich wife, probably a pretty one, too, and that she will never be able to compete. If only he could see and hear her as she is in the realms. It’s infuriating that the things we can do there—all that power—must remain there for the time being.

“I cannot dance another step with you or I shall be bruised for a week.”

“You’re the one who can’t remember the rhythm,” Ann chides, following me into the hall.

“And you can’t remember that my feet and the floor are not one and the same.”

Ann starts to retort, but we’re interrupted by the sight of Felicity barreling down the hall. She waves a sheet of paper over her head.

“He’s coming! He’s coming!”

“Who’s coming?” I say.

She grabs our hands and twirls us around in a circle. “My father! I’ve just had a note. He’s coming for Assembly Day! Oh, isn’t it marvelous?” She stops. “Gracious, I’ve got to get ready. I’ve got to prepare. Well, come on—don’t just stand here! If I don’t learn how to waltz like a proper lady by Sunday, I’m doomed!”

Paradise has turned sour. Mother and I are fighting.

“But why can’t we take the magic out of the realms where it could do some real good?”

“I’ve told you—it isn’t safe yet. Once you do that, once you bring magic back through the portal, it’s fully open. Anyone who knows how could get in.” She pauses, tries to get herself under control. I remember these fights now—the ones that used to make me hate her.

I pull up a clump of berries, twirl them in my hands. “You could help me do it. Then I’d be safe.”

Mother takes the berries away. “No, I can’t. I can’t go back, Gemma.”

“You don’t want to help Father.” It’s a hurtful thing to say, and I know it.

She takes a deep breath. “That’s unfair.”

“You don’t trust me. You don’t think I’m capable!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gemma.” Her eyes flash. “Just yesterday you weren’t able to tell the difference between a cloud and an illusion. The dark spirit under Circe’s control is much more cunning than that. How do you propose to banish it?”

“Why can’t
you
tell me how?” I snap.

“Because I don’t know! There is no hard rule, do you understand? It’s a matter of knowing the spirit in question, knowing its vulnerability. It’s a matter of not allowing it to use your vulnerabilities against you.”

“What if I just used a bit of magic, just enough to help Father and my friends with it—nothing else?”

She takes me by the shoulders like a child. “Gemma, you must listen to me. Do not take the magic out of the realms. Promise me.”

“Yes, fine!” I say, tearing out of her grasp. I can’t believe we’re fighting again. My eyes are hot with tears. “I’m sorry. Assembly Day is tomorrow. I need sleep.”

She nods. “See you tomorrow?”

I’m too angry to answer her. I march off to join my friends. Felicity is poised on the crest of the hill, pulling back on her bow. She looks like the bas-relief of a goddess. With a sharp snap, she lets it fly and it splits a piece of wood cleanly in two. The huntress commends her, and the two of them huddle together in conference. I can’t help wondering what it is they talk about on their hunts or why Felicity tells me less and less. Perhaps I’ve been too engrossed in my own questions to ask any of her.

Pippa is lying in the hammock while her knight regales her with some tale of chivalrous deeds done on her behalf. He gazes at her as if she’s the only girl in the world. And she drinks it in like ambrosia. Ann is busy singing, gazing into the river, where she has assembled a make-believe audience of hundreds who clap and sigh and adore her. I’m the only one chafing here, feeling discontented and powerless. The thrill of our adventures has begun to wear off. What good is it to have this supposed power if I can’t use it?

Pippa finally strides over, twirling a rose in her hands. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

“Well, you can’t,” I tell her.

“Why not?” Ann asks, coming up behind me. Her hair is loose and wavy across her shoulders.

“Because this is not a place to stay,” I answer, defensively. “It’s a place of dreams.”

“What if I choose the dream instead?” Pippa says. It’s such a Pippa thing to say—foolish and taunting.