Stray (4 page)

Aislynn darted to the open doors, practically spilling out onto the terrace that wrapped around the side of the ballroom. The wide row of steps that led down into the quiet moonlit garden was deserted, but Aislynn didn't dare risk being seen, so she crossed the flagstones to where a small bench sat near the top of the steps, hidden behind a rose arbor. She dropped herself onto the cold seat and gathered the skirt of her dress over her knees.

With a shaking hand, she rolled down one of her stockings, exposing a bare leg. Marking her skin were at least a dozen welts, ugly and pink.

Placing her hand on her lower thigh, Aislynn gritted her teeth, bracing herself. For a moment, there was nothing but the relief of expelling the magic, like the release of a long-held breath. Then pain slammed into her. It was an agony worse than the tightest corset, worse than the prick of a spindle, and worse than the sting of a hot oven door.

She could feel her skin pucker and knew that the scar would be as large as a peach pit and just as jagged. Aislynn was ashamed of her inability to control her magic, but at least she had learned how to manage it. Though it burned, there was a sense of relief.

She waited a minute for the pain to lessen, and when it faded into an ache, she gently rolled her stocking back up her leg, folding it just beneath the new mark. Carefully, she lowered her dress, wincing as the fabric brushed against the raw skin.

“I knew it!” A voice shrieked from the darkness, and Aislynn sprang to her feet. A girl, dressed in yellow, emerged from the gardens below and rushed up the steps toward Aislynn with a shaking, outstretched arm. Tiny bare feet peered out from under a muddied hem; black hair draped across her shoulders like skeins of uncarded wool. Hair that was usually as yellow as corn.

“This is your fault.” Maris grabbed a fistful of her ruined hair. “You did this to me, you witch . . . you stray!”

I
t was not the first time Aislynn had been called a stray. The slur seemed to follow her wherever she went. It was a favorite of Violaine's, and even the teachers looked the other way when they heard it whispered in the hallways. It was an awful word, and it felt even worse coming from someone Aislynn considered a friend.

But a friend would never look at her the way Maris was looking at her now.

“What happened?”

“You know what happened,” Maris spat.

Aislynn didn't understand. “Can't your fairy godmother fix it?” If Tahlia were here, Aislynn knew she would help, but Maris laughed.

“Have my fairy godmother fix it? Who do you think reported me?” Her face crumpled. “The headmistress forbade me from coming tonight. But I won't let them Redirect me. I won't.”

Aislynn knew the fate that awaited a royal woman who failed to find a husband before the end of her sixteenth year. They all did. To remain unmarried would leave a girl's heart untended, unguarded, and so, for her own safety, she was Redirected to the Order of Fairy Godmothers, her loving heart forfeited for a life of purity and devotion.

“We'll figure something out.” Aislynn reached out to comfort Maris but was rewarded with a stinging slap across her face.

“Don't touch me!” said Maris. “This is your fault. Everyone knows what you did to Violaine.”

Aislynn put a hand to her burning cheek and remembered how Maris had looked longingly at her black hair that very morning. How envious she had seemed.

“You wanted to have hair like mine,” she murmured, raising her eyes to meet Maris's. “You were vain. You were covetous.”

“How dare you!” Maris stepped forward, her face white as death, and slapped Aislynn again. “Everyone knows what you are—
stray
.”

Aislynn shoved Maris away. The other girl stumbled, her bare feet slapping against the stone. Eyes round and wild, she took a step back, and then another, before turning and fleeing down the stairs and into the garden.

Frozen on the terrace, Aislynn watched Maris run toward the hedge that encircled the garden. Suddenly a tall figure emerged from the shadows, face obscured by a hooded cloak. At first, Aislynn thought Maris's fairy godmother had come to fetch her, but then the figure stepped into the moonlight, and Aislynn saw that the cloak was not purple but black. No one wore black. Especially not at a ball.

A strange and awful feeling prickled at the back of Aislynn's neck as she watched the figure grasp Maris by the hand and pull her through the hedge. They disappeared from sight.

“Looking for someone?” Aislynn jumped. It was Violaine, her lips pursed in scorn, her hand resting on a gentleman's arm. Behind them, guests were streaming out of the ballroom, the ladies fanning themselves delicately. Servants followed, carrying silver platters of fruit and glass goblets of champagne.

“Has Maris deserted you yet again?” Violaine asked with an unpleasant smile. But Aislynn ignored her, turning instead to her companion. The gentleman on Violaine's arm was no stranger.

“Everett!”

“Hello, Aislynn.” It had been years since they last met, but the smile that bloomed across his face was exactly as she had remembered. His wide nose had grown perfectly into the squareness of his face, and his brown eyes were now lined with thick lashes. Unlike Violaine, his green suit perfectly complemented his skin, which was several shades darker than Aislynn's.

“I almost didn't recognize you!” Aislynn exclaimed, stepping forward to hug her childhood friend but quickly realizing that such a greeting would be exceptionally inappropriate. They were no longer children, but young ladies and gentlemen. So she curtsied instead. Everett gave a slight bow and then took her hand. A thrill coursed through her. He was the kind of suitor she was barely brave enough to hope for. She prayed that his name was on her dance card.

“You look exactly as I remember,” he said, smiling so broadly that the dimple in his left cheek showed.

A throat cleared, and Everett glanced at Violaine, who looked none too pleased. He coughed and dropped Aislynn's hand. “I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Lady Violaine, this is Princess Aislynn.”

“We've met,” said Violaine tartly. “Sir Everett . . .” She purred as she sidled up against him. “I'm getting chilly.”

“I thought you were warm,” he countered, clearly confused.

“I was.” Violaine pouted prettily. “But not anymore.” Just then a servant dipped a tray gracefully between them. Everett handed each girl a goblet of champagne before taking one for himself.

“Why don't we make a toast?” He raised his glass. “To old friends!”

Violaine sniffed.

“To a wonderful party?”

There was no objection, and all three glasses were raised and clanked together—Violaine's toast so fierce that it was surprising the crystal didn't shatter.

The champagne burned Aislynn's throat. She was used to wine, sour and heavy, not these light, sharp bursts against her tongue. One sip, and she was already looking for a place to discard her goblet. Violaine lapped at it like a cat, but Everett drained the entire glass in one gulp.

“It's a lovely evening,” he said, signaling to a nearby servant, who replaced his empty glass with a full one. He drank this one more slowly.

“It's a bit brisk,” Violaine replied.

“I'm quite enjoying the decorations,” Everett said. He directed his statement toward Aislynn, but she didn't have a chance to respond before Violaine spoke up.

“They're a shambles compared to the last spring ball.”

Aislynn realized that the other girl was flirting. It was the method of Practiced Disinterest, one of the many styles of flirtation they had been taught at the academy. The first step was to act unimpressed with anything one's partner suggested, thus providing him with the challenge of pleasing you. Though there were at least a dozen types of flirtation, Aislynn had only attempted Practiced Ignorance, but her teachers had told her she was too genuinely curious to be any real success at it.

Violaine seemed to be doing only slightly better. She batted her eyes at Everett, who had now started on his third glass of champagne. “I simply love to dance,” she said.

“I'm enjoying the breeze, actually,” he responded. The smile he gave Aislynn was a little looser than the one before. “I think I'll stay out here for a while.”

“You'd let me enter the ballroom alone, sir?” There was a bite to Violaine's words. Everett finished his drink and gave the glass to a passing servant, then gently detached Violaine's hand from his arm.

“I can't very well leave Aislynn out here by herself, now can I?” he asked.

Violaine's eyes narrowed. “You'd rather stay out here with
her
?” she sneered. “You do realize what she is, don't you?”

Aislynn sucked in a breath, her spine as straight as a spindle. She could only imagine the stories her classmate would be more than happy to share.

“A childhood friend?” Everett asked, smiling. He wrapped his fingers around Aislynn's wrist, and she felt her breath release. His touch was soft and reassuring.

Violaine turned as red as a poisoned apple. “I would have expected that someone in your . . . situation would be more discerning when selecting a partner.” This time it was Everett who flushed. “You two deserve each other,” she hissed, throwing her goblet to the ground.

Everett and Aislynn barely had time to jump away before the glass shattered. With a flounce of her skirt, Violaine stalked into the ballroom without a backward glance.

“She's lovely,” Everett said drily, taking Aislynn's goblet and draining it before she could say anything. Shards of glass glittered up at her, caught in the folds of her dress. She gently shook them free.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Everett placed their empty glasses carefully on one of the terrace benches and strained to see down into the darkness. “What's down there?”

“The gardens—” The words were barely out of Aislynn's mouth before Everett grabbed her hand and steered her toward the steps.

“I don't think we're allowed . . . ,” Aislynn said faintly, knowing that her parents were probably looking for her but not really wanting to return to the ballroom, not really wanting him to let go.

Everett gave her a mischievous smile and led her down the steps. They followed the stone path until they reached a small gate nestled in a boxwood hedge. The sounds of the party grew fainter as they entered the hidden space, the lights of the ballroom just barely visible. Everett swung himself onto the edge of a sleeping fountain and lifted his face to the moonlight. It didn't seem possible, but the quiet of the evening and the secrecy of the rose garden made him seem even more handsome than before.

Suddenly he flung his arms wide, and Aislynn was afraid for a moment that he'd topple into the fountain. Instead he pitched forward, his knees hitting the ground hard, then his hands. Aislynn rushed to his side.

“Are you all right?” She knelt next to him, her lovely blue dress sliding over the dusty gravel. He blinked at her, once, twice, and finally when he opened his eyes a third time, he seemed to recognize her again.

“Aislynn,” he said, his playful smile gone.

Grasping his elbow, she helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?” she asked again.

“I guess I've discovered my limit on champagne.” He frowned, and Aislynn longed to smooth away the line that appeared between his eyes. “Though it was likely I would have continued to indulge if you hadn't saved me.”

“Saved you?”

“From your friend.” Everett wrinkled his nose. “The
Lady
Violaine.”

“She's not my friend,” Aislynn said. The distaste must have been evident on her face, because Everett laughed.

“No, of course not.” His teeth were white and perfect as he smiled at her. “Competitors should never be friends.”

“I hardly think she imagines me as competition,” Aislynn muttered, more to herself.

“Well, she should.” Everett took her hand, his fingers brushing against the inside of her wrist. “I can't imagine who would marry someone like her, lacking in both modesty and connections. Not like you.” His dimples deepened. “Violaine is a piece of green glass, while you . . . you are a sapphire.”

Aislynn wished she had a fan to calm the heat that spread across her chest and throat. But Everett quickly dropped her hands, and she did her best to conceal her disappointment, pressing her damp palms against the skirt of her dress.

“What do you think she meant by it?” he asked. “When she said we deserved each other.”

“I don't know,” Aislynn said, but it was a lie. She knew exactly what Violaine had meant. While Aislynn's chances of a good marriage were threatened by her inability to control her magic, Everett's opportunities were limited not only by his status, but by his birthplace as well.

Like Maris, his family was originally from the West. Every day seemed to bring news of another family leaving the embattled kingdom. No doubt Everett's family had fled with others, in hopes of a better marriage for him and a better life for them all. Unfortunately, rumors of Josetta's growing influence in the West had made some royals uneasy about forming alliances with her former subjects, even if they had been unwilling ones.