Stray (25 page)

“I am grateful for my father, who keeps me good and sweet. I am grateful for my mother, who keeps her own heart guarded and safe. I am grateful for my adviser, who keeps me protected. I am grateful for the Path, which keeps me pure. Ever after.”

Standing next to Linnea, Aislynn bowed her head but did not recite the prayer. To say it would be a lie. Instead she listened as the voices blended together, surrounding her.

Surreptitiously she glanced up. Linnea's head was down, her chin nearly touching her chest, and her eyes were tightly closed. What did she feel when she recited those words? Was she filled with the same doubt, the same shame that lingered in Aislynn's heart? And what about the others? Looking around the room, Aislynn wondered how many secrets, how many lies were tucked away in each bowed head.

The faint sound of music drifted into the waiting room. The ball had begun. Aislynn obediently joined the line of girls and tried to imagine the suitors who were assembling at the bottom of the stairs, but all she could see was Thackery's face. She pushed it away. There was no use wishing for something she could not have.

When the curtains finally opened, her father was waiting for her. There was more gray in his hair than before, but otherwise he looked the same. When it was time to take his hand, she was surprised by how tightly he held on to her, as if he would never let go again.

The ballroom smelled like cider and candles. Enormous orange pumpkins, their thick stems curling up toward the ceiling, had been placed at the edge of the dance floor. Each table was heavy with yellow and red candles and a bouquet of autumn leaves.

“Adviser Hull and I have spoken about your prospects,” said the king quietly. “Though the list is”—he cleared his throat—“not substantial in length, I believe it is more than exceptional in quality.” He squeezed his daughter's hand. “There is one young man in particular who would be especially happy to have you as a wife.”

“Does he know?” Aislynn asked, surprising herself with the bitterness that crept into her words. What kind of lies had her father told to convince this suitor that she was a favorable match?

Her father looked confused, so Aislynn continued. “Does he know what I'm capable of?” The thought of being Redirected again made her ill, but so did the thought of a marriage based on falsehoods and the lifetime of secrets that would follow. Were these her only choices? Her hands were balled into tight fists. “The reason you're afraid of me. Why I was Redirected. Does he know?”

The king paled and quickly shook his head. “No one has to know.” He ushered Aislynn out of the way of the giggling couples and happy chatter. His voice was hoarse and hurried. “We will take care of you. If you are quiet and careful, you can be safe.”

It was exactly what her mother had said, but nothing about this felt safe.

“All you have to do is say yes to Everett,” he murmured.

“Sir?” As if he had been conjured, Everett appeared out of the crowd. “Might I take a moment of your daughter's time?”

The king looked relieved and put Aislynn's hand in Everett's. “She would be honored,” he said with an approving nod.

Everett was exactly the same. His smile was just as wide, his shoulders just as broad, and his eyes sparkled with a familiar hazy excitement. Aislynn guessed that he had probably already found the champagne. Pulling her hand, he led her through the brightly colored crowd. Staring at their entwined fingers, Aislynn waited for the giddy flutter she had felt the last time they had seen each other, the last time they had touched. Nothing happened.

“Aislynn!” Linnea came hurrying over, Westerly and his dour expression following behind. “Is this Sir Everett?” she asked after the two girls exchanged a hug.

“Your Majesty!” Everett's bow was unsteady, as if he was nervous. There was good reason to be, Aislynn reminded herself. Most monarchs would not bother to mingle with someone of his status. “It is an honor,” he said, kissing the back of Linnea's hand.

The monarch princess smiled, her gaze catching Aislynn's as if to say “I approve.” But Aislynn didn't smile back. Her attention was focused on the fourth finger of Westerly's hand, where Monarch King Dominick's ring gleamed.

“I've heard you're a lover of horses,” Westerly said to Everett. The silver ring glinted in the light of the shining ballroom, and the white stone gave off a faint glow.

Everett seemed to go gray. “You—you have?” he stammered.

Westerly raised an eyebrow. “Everyone's heard.”

Everett gripped Aislynn's arm, but she was barely aware of him. So Linnea had followed Adviser Lennard's advice and given her father's ring to her fiancé after all. Even though Aislynn had no reason to believe Linnea would have gone against her adviser's recommendation and kept the ring for herself, Aislynn was shocked at the anger that surged through her.

Her head ached. The room was full of perfume and candle smoke, and she couldn't think properly. “I need some air,” she said abruptly, and without waiting for a response, she pushed through the crowded ballroom and out into the cold night.

Just as there was at Nerine and Elderwood, there was a ballroom terrace at Nyssa, and past that terrace and down the stairs, there was a secluded and mostly hidden garden.

Aislynn welcomed the crisp air. Some things would always be consistent, such as a chill in autumn and the sound of violins at a ball. She had just settled onto a terrace bench when a warm hand fell on her shoulder.

“It's a beautiful night” was all the monarch princess said. She sat down and tipped her face to the night sky, and Aislynn did the same, watching the millions of tiny stars twinkling brightly above. A full moon was rising in the west. It was a creamy yellow, just like whipped butter.

“A little cold, perhaps, but quite lovely, don't you think?” Linnea asked, scooting closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Even though she had heard enough secrets to last a lifetime, Aislynn nodded. “Of course.”

“A part of me wishes that you could be my fairy godmother forever.” Linnea sighed. “It's terribly selfish, I know, but I'm going to miss you. There are so few people in my life who have cared about me. My parents. Adviser Lennard. You.” She paused. “Westerly.”

“Do you really love Westerly?” It was a bold question, but a part of Aislynn wanted Linnea to confide in her about Brigid. The bag of love letters tied to the sash at her waist felt as heavy as bricks. Aislynn wanted to give it back. She didn't want to carry another secret around.

Linnea pulled away. “Of course I love him,” she said.

“The way your parents loved each other?”

The monarch princess's face darkened. “That was a story, Aislynn.” Then her expression cleared, and Linnea smiled a sad kind of smile. “There are many different kinds of love. I love Westerly, in a way. The way you'll love Everett.” It seemed almost like a plea.

“But don't you want to be happy?”

“No.” Linnea's voice was quiet and sure. “I want to be safe.”

“Ladies.” Westerly's voice startled them both, and Aislynn wondered how much he had heard of their conversation. He and Everett stepped out of the shadows. “We've been looking everywhere for you.”

Linnea gave them a brilliant smile and held out her hand to Westerly. “I just wanted some fresh air, darling. But I'm ready to come in now.”

“Lovely.”

Without waiting to see if Aislynn or Everett would follow, he led the monarch princess back to the ballroom.

“Well,” said Everett. He glanced around the empty terrace and out into the garden. When he looked back at Aislynn, he wore a mischievous smile. “Come on.” Grabbing her hand, Everett pulled Aislynn from the bench.

She followed him, just as she had before, down the wide steps and into the garden. It was almost exactly the same as the gardens at Nerine, but the hedges were higher and the moon brighter.

Aislynn shivered. Gallantly Everett pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, looking at her with expectant eyes.

When her father had called her list of suitors insubstantial, Aislynn knew that there was only one name on that list. Once Everett had appeared, she also knew that he would ask her to marry him. But it wasn't until this moment that Aislynn realized she could not say yes.

She knew she should. Aislynn knew without a doubt that this was what her parents and Linnea would tell her to do. Say yes. Be good. Be safe. But she couldn't.

“Everett, I—”

“Please don't.” All cheerfulness vanished from his face, and he took both of her hands in his. For a moment Aislynn feared he was going to get down on one knee, but he just stared at their joined hands. “Just say yes,” he said. “Please.” There was fear in his voice.

“I don't love you,” said Aislynn. The statement was as blunt as it was true.

Everett perked up as if this was the most wonderful news. “And I don't love you either.” He squeezed her hands. “Don't you see? It's perfect. I would never try to control you, and I'd never be in the way, never even bother you, really. And I'm not the jealous type, trust me.”

“I don't understand.” Aislynn's head was swimming, and she was having a hard time making sense of what he had just said to her. “Why do you want to marry me, then?”

“Because we belong together.” This time he did lower himself to the ground, to both knees, as if he was begging. “You can save me, Aislynn. Please.”

Aislynn knelt, too, not caring that the dirt and grass would stain her beautiful dress. She understood why her father had chosen him as her suitor. His situation was just as desperate as hers.

His eyes were so hopeful, his face so handsome—and for a moment, Aislynn thought that she might submit.

“No,” she said finally, taking off his jacket and handing it back to him. He stared at it, his body as limp as a doll that had lost its stuffing.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

Aislynn had no answer.

“If only we could have loved each other, it would have fixed everything.” He laughed without humor and got to his feet, slipping his jacket on. “It would have fixed everything.” He didn't even bother with a bow before he left, his shoulders slumped and head low. The gate slammed behind him.

And Aislynn was alone.

F
ar away, the clock struck midnight. Aislynn sat back on the grass heavily, her enormous gown billowing up around her. What had she done?

Get up, she ordered herself. Get up, you stupid, foolish girl and chase after him. Fall at his feet and beg him to forgive you, beg him to marry you, beg him to save you.

But she couldn't. She couldn't pull herself from the dirt, couldn't make herself go after him.

At that moment she envied Linnea's obedience. Her unwavering devotion to the Path.

Aislynn tugged at her locket, hating the heart that beat beneath it and hating the thought of losing it again.

Maybe it was better this way. Better to forget her family, forget Linnea and Brigid and Ford and Thackery. Thackery. She was overwhelmed with regret, the feeling sharp and raw. What would it have felt like to kiss him like this, completely whole?

Now she'd never know.

Aislynn drew her knees up to her chin and lifted her eyes to the moon. It stared down at her, pale and round and silent. As if it knew. Knew that she didn't deserve the second chance she had been given. Knew that she deserved to be shipped off to the Western Kingdom.

Her shiver wasn't from the cold. Who could tell what waited for her beyond the Western borders? Every season brought more royal refugees escaping from the rapidly expanding Midlands, and surely nothing could be more tempting to the Wicked Queen than a failed fairy godmother sent practically to her doorstep.

Brushing off her dress, Aislynn stood. She would not let herself get hysterical. Surely the advisers knew something she did not. They would never willingly put her in danger. Would they?

She should return to the party. But before she could move, Aislynn heard footsteps coming toward the garden, and she stilled. She began to catch snippets of a conversation. One of the voices was barely audible, the other painfully clear.

“If only I had been given a little more time,” Madame Moira was saying, her voice half annoyed, half begging. “She's been trouble since the day she arrived. I'll be glad to be rid of her.”

The next part of the exchange was muffled, the voice too quiet to make out. “The parents always make a fuss when they disappear,” said Madame Moira.

Fear pressed against Aislynn's chest, and she could feel her pulse ticking in her neck. She no longer wanted to hear the rest of the conversation. Slowly, quietly she got to her feet.

“Make sure to take a souvenir. Sometimes it's the only way to convince them that their daughter isn't coming back. A lock of hair will do.” The headmistress let out a low chuckle. “Or a toe.”