Chantress (16 page)

She turned to me. “Your mother died almost immediately.” She stopped, as if struggling for words. “I don’t think she suffered. A moment of agony, perhaps, but then there was nothing left but a pile of ash.”

I stared at the fire, at the dull glow of the coals and the coat of gray fur on the grate. I felt sick.

“And you?” Sir Barnaby asked Lady Helaine.

“I fought,” she said with grim triumph. “The Shadowgrims sapped my magic so quickly that I could not defeat them, but at
the last moment, I managed to sing a song of escape—taking care to leave a pile of ash behind me, so that everyone would think that I, too, was dead. But that was the last magic I was ever able to work.”

“Still, you held off the ravens,” Penebrygg said. “We thought that was impossible, even for a Chantress.”

“For most, it is. But I was the most powerful of my generation, and the most learned.” She spoke with chilly pride. “No one else had such training, or such skill.”

“If you lost your magic,” I asked, “how did you find me?”

“By smell.” Lady Helaine nodded at Norrie, who was gently snoring. “I found her in exactly the same way.”

I was sure I had misheard. “You found us by
smell
?”

“Yes,” Lady Helaine said. “I cannot work magic myself, but I have lived too long with enchantment not to be able to sense it in the air, especially the enchantment worked by my own kind. Four evenings ago, I caught the tang of it, fresh currents coming from the east. In the old days, the smell alone might have told me more about you and the magic you were working, but that is lost to me; I could tell only that a Chantress was at work. Yet that was enough. I followed the smell, and it brought me to Norrie. And the next day I caught the scent of it again, coming from this part of London. I traced it to this house, and I have been watching you ever since.”

“But why—?” Nat began.

“Enough.” Lady Helaine’s eyes glinted. “I have answered a great many questions. It is time for me to put some to you.” She singled me out with a look. “Goddaughter, Norrie tells me that
you took off your stone on Allhallows’ Eve. Do you have it with you now?”

In answer, I brought the ruby into the light.

Even Lady Helaine seemed dumbstruck by the sight. She leaned in close and peered into its depths, then asked me to rotate it slowly before her, as if she were a jeweler making a minute inspection. “Oh, that is a very fine one,” she whispered at last. “Very fine indeed.”

“I’ve kept it on most of the time,” I said. “Except for the mind-reading, but—”

“What?” Lady Helaine’s spindly hands stiffened. “What magic have you been working, goddaughter?”

I told her.

“You entered Lord Scargrave’s mind with moonbriar magic? Without protection?” In icy fury, Lady Helaine turned on Sir Barnaby, Penebrygg, and Nat. “You forced her to do this?”

Penebrygg looked abashed. “We did not know there was any danger.”

“It wasn’t a question of forcing,” I said. “I wanted to try.”

Our words only seemed to increase Lady Helaine’s anger. “You have been careless beyond imagining, all of you! No wonder I could smell magic in the air. It is a wonder that all the kingdom did not.”

I touched my hand to the ruby.

Lady Helaine glared at me. “Never take that stone off again.”

My hand stilled on the stone. “Never take it off? Why?”

“Because that stone was meant to protect you,” Lady Helaine said, her voice ratchety with suppressed fury. “Every Chantress has one. It is created by her mother and godmother, and it protects her from the Wild Magic that abounds in the world.”

“Wild Magic?” I asked.

“What’s that?” Nat asked warily. Behind him, Penebrygg and Sir Barnaby looked confused.

“Don’t you people know anything?” Lady Helaine exclaimed. “Wild Magic is everywhere. Everything—seeds, rocks, wind, rain, even the earth itself—has its own music, its own singing. And in ancient times, we Chantresses listened to that singing, and shaped our own songs from it.”

“Then why is it bad?” I asked.

“Because not everything in this world wishes us well,” Lady Helaine said grimly. “Indeed, many things wish us harm. And
as our Chantress blood has thinned out, it is easier for us to be misled by them, to follow their siren songs even unto our own destruction and death. That is why our ancestresses created the stones. They soak up the songs of Wild Magic and keep them from reaching us—”

“How exactly does that work?” Sir Barnaby interrupted, with interest. “She’s not supposed to wear the stone around her ears, is she?”

“Of course not.” There was a disdainful edge to Lady Helaine’s voice, as if she were explaining the obvious to imbeciles. “It is the heart that hears Wild Magic. And thus it is the heart that must be protected from the songs of those who would harm us. As long as a Chantress keeps her stone close to her heart, she will be safe.”

“Er . . . I see.” Sir Barnaby nodded uncertainly.

Nat and Penebrygg looked as if they would like to ask more questions, but I was the one who spoke first. “I heard singing even before I took off the stone—out in the garden, on the island. How can that be?”

“That happens sometimes,” Lady Helaine admitted. “Especially when the Chantress is young and powerful and very vulnerable, as you are. When the Wild Magic is very strong—on Allhallows’ Eve, for instance—it may even discover your own desires and use them against you.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“What were you thinking of, the day you heard that music?” Lady Helaine’s eyes glimmered. “Were you thinking of how
much you wanted to be home? Or were you, perhaps, wishing for adventure? For excitement?”

How did she know? I looked away, not liking to be read so well.

“And the Wild Magic heard you,” Lady Helaine said softly. “It heard you and called you home, and then put you in the greatest possible danger. That is what Wild Magic does. That is why you must wear your stone. If any Wild Magic does reach you—and only the strongest magic will—it will be too weak to do any real damage. It is only if you take the stone off and let the magic into your heart that you can be hurt by it.”

“Fascinating,” Sir Barnaby murmured.

Lady Helaine speared him with an angry glance. “You miss my point, sir, which is this: A Chantress who removes her stone and opens her heart to Wild Magic will soon find herself trapped or betrayed—or worse. As Lucy has learned to her cost.”

I felt every eye come to rest on me.

“The first mistake was yours, and yours alone,” Lady Helaine said to me. “It came out of ignorance, but it was no less serious for all that. You listened to the wind on Allhallows’ Eve—the wind that sings so sweetly and promises so much. And look what came of that. You were swept from your place of safety, and you lost Norrie.”

I could not find any words to defend myself. What Lady Helaine said was true: I had bungled things badly.

“But as if that were not bad enough, these men inveigled you into even worse mistakes. Nor can they have been as blind as you to the dangers.” She fixed them with an icy stare. “Gentlemen,
what were you thinking? To listen to the wind is unwise, but to listen to moonbriar seeds, the food of the Shadowgrims—that is folly indeed!”

Penebrygg and Sir Barnaby looked guiltily at each other. Nat stared at his hands.

Lady Helaine’s face was dead white in the dark room, her voice rasping yet strangely melodic. “A Chantress who sings a moonbriar song may enter so deeply into another’s mind that she can never find her way back. Her heart will beat with his; she will forget her very existence. And the danger is greatest when the other person has considerable power and intends her harm. In that case, a Chantress may well be destroyed. And even if she does survive, the imprint of the person’s mind often stays with her, making her more susceptible to his influence. And this”—she lifted her hands in the air, almost helpless with rage—“this is what you have done to my goddaughter.”

I blanched, remembering my last moments in Lord Scargrave’s head, with the ravens cawing and croaking.

“And that is not all,” Lady Helaine said. “The Shadowgrims can smell Wild Magic being worked, and of all songs, they are most drawn to that of the moonbriar. By encouraging Lucy in her recklessness, you exposed her—and yourselves—to their horrors.”

“The Shadowgrims know where we are?” Penebrygg exclaimed.

“If they did, you would already be in the Raven Pit,” Lady Helaine said. “From what Lucy says, she sang only by day, when the Shadowgrims were sleeping—except once, when she walked into Scargrave’s mind at twilight, as the ravens were wakening.
By the time they were in flight, the smell of the Wild Magic had subsided, and any traces that remained would have been blown away on the wind.” She added, “Not far enough, though. Didn’t you notice the Shadowgrims circling over the city that evening? Something was stirring them up. Perhaps it was that.”

“We had no eyes for anything but Lucy,” Nat said roughly. Penebrygg nodded. Both of them looked shaken, however, as did Sir Barnaby. Did the prospect of those circling Shadowgrims horrify them as much as it did me?

“Have we lost already?” I asked. “Have we no hope of defeating Scargrave?”

Standing before the remains of the fire, Lady Helaine looked more tired than ever. “No, we have not lost. Not yet. I can teach you a safe way to sing. A way to sing with the stone on.”

A safe way to sing? One that would not land me in Scargrave’s mind? I looked at Lady Helaine with new hope.

“Tell us more,” Penebrygg said, his bespectacled face brightening.

“It is secret knowledge, to be shared only among Chantresses.” Lady Helaine waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “All you need know is that it will take time. Perhaps quite a lot of time.” She looked at me. “We must find a safe place for you, somewhere well away from London, as far from Scargrave and the ravens as possible—”

Sir Barnaby, Penebrygg, and Nat looked at each other.

Lady Helaine broke off. “What is it?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” Penebrygg said. “Sir Barnaby came
here tonight to tell us about the new measures Scargrave put into place against Chantresses today. Something has rattled him—”

“The mind-reading!” Lady Helaine said.

“Possibly,” Penebrygg admitted. “In any case, he has ordered that every person who passes in or out of the city must be examined for the Chantress mark.”

Fear rose like smoke inside me, suffocating and pervasive.

“No exceptions will be made, no matter how it interrupts trade or business,” Sir Barnaby confirmed. “There will be additional watchers at the city gates and on the bridges and along the river. New Chantress-hunters have been appointed, and the Ravens’ Own are to help them with their work. It will be like the bad old days, when Chantress-hunting was at its height.”

“The Ravens’ Own?” Lady Helaine echoed. “Are you sure?” When Sir Barnaby nodded, two red spots appeared on her parchment-white cheeks. “And you expect me to keep her safe against those hellhounds? Without magic, without money, without friends—”

“You have us,” Penebrygg said.

“But I have no home, no safe place to shield her,” Lady Helaine said. “I am constantly on the move, and even so, I have nearly been caught many times.”

Nat, Penebrygg, and Sir Barnaby exchanged glances again.

“What about—?” Nat began.

“Indeed,” said Penebrygg.

Sir Barnaby nodded. “Consider it settled.” To Lady Helaine, he said, “I know a place that is as safe as any in this city, one
where the walls are exceedingly thick and you will not be overheard. You and Miss Marlowe may stay there, and while you are there, you can teach her what you know.”

“And then she will put an end to the Shadowgrims,” Nat said.

I heard the faint echo of those jabbering birds and shuddered. Somehow I must find the courage to face them again. Perhaps with Lady Helaine’s magic . . .

“No,” Lady Helaine said.

Nat’s hazel eyes turned cold. “You’re saying you have some other plan?”

“I am saying that what you ask is not possible,” Lady Helaine said. “I do not have the song-spells for that. The Shadowgrims robbed me of them, and of much else besides. I remember only a handful of songs, and while they will help keep my goddaughter safe, I can assure you they will not allow her to defeat Scargrave.”

I sagged back in my chair. Was that the best I could hope for—to live a life in hiding, keeping Scargrave at bay?

As I stared at Lady Helaine in dismay, Penebrygg snapped his fingers. “We’ve forgotten the manuscript! Nat, will you fetch it for us?”

Nat was already on his feet. In a moment, he was back, cradling two sheets of parchment in his hand.

“Can you read this?” he said to Lady Helaine.

Lady Helaine snatched at the manuscript. “Where did you find this?”

“In a library far to the north, several years ago,” Penebrygg said. “A curious case, that. We had heard—”

“Never mind that,” Sir Barnaby interrupted. “Can you tell us what it says, Lady Helaine? We are quite sure it is important, judging from how well it was hidden. Is it the song for destroying the Shadowgrims?”

Lady Helaine scanned the pages. “No, it is not.”

Disappointment, sharp as an awl, struck hard. It was a bitter blow. And then Lady Helaine looked up, her eyes wide and strangely dazed, and said, “It is something even better.”

“Even better?” I repeated. What on earth did she mean?

Lady Helaine hesitated and checked the manuscript again. “I saw this manuscript once, a very long time ago. I memorized every note—and then the Shadowgrims drove it from my mind. You are correct: It is indeed a song-spell of the highest importance.”

“But what is it for, my lady?” Penebrygg implored.

Lady Helaine’s raspy whisper echoed across the room. “It will destroy the grimoire itself.”

“But what about the Shadowgrims?” I asked. “If Scargrave still has them, what does it matter if we destroy the grimoire?”

“Once the grimoire is destroyed, its works will go with it,” Lady Helaine said. “Including the Shadowgrims.”