The Merqueen (The Witching World Book 3) Page 2

  “Why would he do that?” Mordecai asked.

  “How would I know?” said the same pixie.

  The others were content to allow her to speak for them. They had reason to be cautious around these magicians. Mordecai’s ancestors were the ones to capture all of them within the pieces that lined the walls of the castle. Apparently they’d been collectors not just of art, but of creatures.

  “He must have thought we could help,” the pixie added.

  “It doesn’t seem to me you know much about being helpful,” Sir Lancelot muttered under his breath, but it was enough to garner several vengeful glares.

  I had to agree with him. Broken pottery and ceramic shards were scattered everywhere. The paintings and tapestries that had housed the array of creatures lay on the floor in heaps. Tables and chairs were upturned. Half the candles burned on their sides (I’d worry about everything catching fire, except that I knew Robert kept the candles burning through magic).

  “What spell did my brother use to summon you out of the art?”

  “How should we know? You’re the magicians.”

  That struck me as strange because pixies were quite a magical sort. That was part of the annoyance. They’d been flying and fluttering everywhere, moving things around in general mischief, always pleased to trick us.

  Mordecai narrowed his eyes at the pixie. She did her best to ignore his look, pretending to be interested in the petal detailing on her dress. “Every magical creature knows the spell a magician uses to summon her,” he said. “At least for some time afterward. The spell becomes part of the creature’s fabric for several years, often times for much longer.”

  The pixie hid half her face behind shiny black hair that stood still despite the flapping of her diminutive wings. She was at eye level with Mordecai.

  “You should know the spell Albacus used to call on you.”

  The pixie examined her toes now.

  “Unless you aren’t telling the truth.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me in the fairy tales I read at Norland that pixies might lie. For some reason, I imagined they’d be bound by some code of truth.

  “Will you be forthcoming with the truth, or do I need to use a truth spell on you?”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you.” The pixie shook her long black hair from her face and held her head high. Her impudent attitude dispelled my earlier misconception. “This is the spell your brother used: ‘When danger arrives at the Castle of Irele, all creatures capable of life within it must defend. Become avengers and fight for honorable death, or better yet, long life. Step out now from wherever you are. Respond to this calling.’”

  “That’s it? That’s the spell?”

  “Yes.” The pixie jutted out her chin defiantly.

  “That’s a very vague spell.”

  “We thought so too.”

  “That’s most unlike my brother. He was always very specific with his spells. He understood the danger of unclear spells. He would’ve thought about what could happen if he unleashed all potential life within the castle.”

  Marcelo walked over to Mordecai and spoke to him with all the gentleness a son could have for a father. “That’s all true. But Albacus was under enormous stress during the battle, as we all were. I wouldn’t blame him if he were incapable of clear thought.”

  I nodded at the memory of how I froze when Marcelo’s nephew singled me out. I’d stood there, unable to do a single thing to defend myself while he attacked.

  Mordecai nodded too. Fresh tears welled in his eyes. “Yes. You’re right, of course, Marcelo. That’s the only reasonable explanation. And now we must fix my brother’s error.” Mordecai looked toward the assorted creatures that crowded the hall. Many of them bristled. Others appeared overwhelmed by rapidly changing worlds. As magical and bizarre as the castle was, it wasn’t the same as the familiar landscapes of the paintings and tapestries they’d inhabited for centuries.

  The art limited what the creatures could interact with to whatever existed within it. The universe of their existence was unchanging and small in scope, completely contrary to my experience. Since I’d arrived at Irele, every day brought a surprise, many of the unpleasant sort. There was nothing fixed about the castle. Its paths and room were ever changing.

  “You can’t send us back,” said another pixie, a boy. He rose to hover above the others so Mordecai could see him.

  “I have to. You weren’t meant to be part of this world. My ancestors commissioned the artists to create you and then they gave you life through spells, a life confined to their art collection. You were never intended to possess life beyond it. None of you were born outside of your art.”

  “Ahem,” Sir Lancelot said.

  Mordecai looked to Sir Lancelot. The magician was flustered, flushed, and distracted. What was an uncommon occurrence for him before his brother’s death was fast becoming the norm.

  Sir Lancelot widened his already large pygmy owl eyes at him, but Mordecai didn’t catch on as quickly as he usually did. “I was born outside of my painting,” Sir Lancelot said.

  “Yes, well, you’re the exception, Sir Lancelot,” Mordecai said. “You were confined to one of the paintings along with one of my ancestors, and they all lived in this world, for a time at least, before ending up in their paintings.”

  I didn’t know much about Mordecai’s ancestors or how they came to be in their portraits, but I could agree that Sir Lancelot was an exception to most things. I’d never met an owl, or any other kind of animal, like him before.

  “But you don’t have to put us back in the art,” the boy pixie said. “Not really. We could become part of this world.” The boy pixie’s gentle entreaty was far more effective than their spokesperson’s insolence. “We could have life and purpose beyond being part of a magicians’ collection.”

  The old man was softening. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t have to. I don’t have to oblige my ancestors’ intentions. I don’t agree with much of what they did, anyway.”

  Immediately, Marcelo and Sir Lancelot protested. Even Sylvia complained in her own firedrake way. Pixies and animals—some who could speak—erupted in their defense.

  I rubbed my temples against the cacophony. There had been no silence sufficient for mourning or peace since the battle that caused Albacus to release all of them… and lose his life.

  Still, I wondered if maybe the boy pixie had a point. It didn’t seem very nice to have been created solely to become part of a collection, to be trapped within unchanging art, a small world compared to the one we lived in.

  But there was also great danger in the larger world. And I wasn’t ever going to forget that. Neither would the rest of us that had seen the dark magicians descend upon the army of Irele with the intent to kill indiscriminately.

  The noise level rose unbearably. I couldn’t manage thought anymore.

  Something or someone would explode soon like this. The pressure was building, and it would have to let off somewhere. I didn’t want to be around when it did.

  Chapter 3

  Mother had done a good job of drilling her sense of decorum into me, despite my resistance. The rules at Irele were much different than the ones at Norland—lax to almost non-existent because of the secrecy that magic required—but still, I never closed the door to Marcelo’s study when he and I were in it alone together.

  I was used to my lady’s maid, Maggie, as a constant presence whenever I would otherwise be alone with a suitor. Maggie was back at Norland now and I presumed she, like everyone else, was under the impression I was dead.

  Today, for the first time, I closed the door behind me as I entered the study, and it wasn’t an easy feat. My conscience and my mother’s aristocratic ways had nothing to do with it.

  I leaned my shoulder into the door until the latch clicked. Then I locked it. I turned to face Marcelo, my back against the door while my heart beat too fast for the few flights of stairs I’d rushed up to reach him.

  “We have to do something about t
his. They’re out of control.” Something rammed the door with a loud thump. My heart jumped along with the door. “Oh my goodness. Marcelo, my nerves have been on edge since the battle. I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

  “I second that,” Sir Lancelot spoke up from the windowsill.

  “Oh, hello, Sir Lancelot. I hadn’t noticed you there.”

  The pygmy owl bent his head toward me. “Good afternoon, Lady Clara. I couldn’t agree more with you. I can barely sleep, as flustered as I am. I can hardly even get my feathers to lay flat because my nerves won’t settle.” He turned to preen.

  Marcelo seemed not to hear either one of us though. He stood and stared at me for a long while before his own heart settled enough for him to speak. “Clara, why on earth would you attempt to walk the castle on your own? You know how dangerous it is.” Marcelo’s voice thundered, but I couldn’t blame him for it. I knew all too well how dangerous the castle was. It had cost me three years of my life.

  “I got tired of waiting for you to come find me or for Mordecai to free up and escort me. I even looked for Robert, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. What was I to do? Mordecai didn’t even look at me when I tried to speak with him. He was covered with pixies talking in his ear, and that maiden from the satyr tapestry still hasn’t stopped crying. It’s as if she can’t believe she’s free of him.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come get you, Clara. But do you really think it was worth the risk you took? What if you’d ended up in the merworld again? Or in another one of the rooms that leads to who-knows-where? How would I have ever found you with the way the castle is right now?”

  “I know. I know. I realize now it was foolish. But Marcelo, I’m not sure how safe the castle is for me when I’m away from you anymore, even if I’m stationary. Some of these creatures lash out at me, and I don’t know why.”

  “They’re ill-behaved, that’s all. They never had to account to anyone for their actions before. Their world was so small. They have all this freedom all of a sudden, and no limitations.” Marcelo’s eyes met mine. “They’ll settle down.”

  Sir Lancelot scoffed from the window.

  “Will they? How long will it be if they ever do?”

  Marcelo sighed. It was the sound he seemed to make most as of late. He ran a hand through black hair that already stood in several directions.

  “I don’t know, Clara.” He came out from behind the table piled with books and took both my hands in his. “Just promise me you’ll never attempt to walk through the castle alone again.”

  I could lose myself in those black eyes. They teased me, making me think they could be an escape from all our problems.

  “Clara. Promise me.”

  “All right. I promise. I don’t want to get stuck in the merworld again any more than you want me to. But what do I do if I need to go somewhere and you’re not around and everyone else is busy?”

  Marcelo let go of my hands and headed for the books. “Well, it sounds like you should learn a way to call to me across the castle.”

  “I should learn? Or will you teach me?”

  Marcelo looked up from the pages he’d already started flipping through. “Honestly, Clara, I’m not sure how much I can teach you. You’re performing magic I haven’t been able to do yet.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I know more than you! I hardly know anything at all. I need you to teach me. I need Mordecai to teach me. I need you to help me figure out what in heavens is going on inside me.”

  I went over to Marcelo and lifted one of his hands from the book. I held it and drew his eyes to mine again. “I can’t do this all alone. I don’t have to be alone anymore. And neither do you. We’re to be married, remember? We’re supposed to help each other. We’re supposed to teach each other what we know.”

  How different our relationship was than what Winston had tried to force on me. To Winston, an engagement gave him power over his fiancée. Had Marcelo not intervened, he would have wielded it, and I would be a battered, cowering wife by now.

  “Yes, Clara, you’re right, of course. I’ll do what I can. Take a seat. Let’s see what we can do so that you can signal me when you need me, for starters, because it doesn’t look like the creatures are going back into the art anytime soon.”

  “But why not?” I asked.

  Sir Lancelot flew over to my shoulder. “Is his Lordship Mordecai not interested in returning the creatures to the art? I do hope he is.”

  “He is, I think. It’s been a lot for him, the death.” By avoiding Albacus’ name, Marcelo accentuated him more. “I think he’s finding the distraction a remedy for his grief.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But the grief won’t go away no matter how long he waits to face it. When the distraction is gone, he’ll feel every bit of it still.”

  “I agree, my dear. He also wants to honor his brother’s memory by bringing something good to the situation. He thinks of setting right some of the darkness that was captured in the art by his ancestors.”

  “Well, I can’t disagree with that. The art in the castle has spooked me from the start. How long could that take?”

  Marcelo met my eyes but didn’t want to answer.

  When it became clear Marcelo would continue to avoid my question, Sir Lancelot said, “Milady, it could take a very long time. It’s always harder to undo a spell that you didn’t cast yourself. It becomes even more difficult to undo once the magician who cast the spell is no longer alive. And, in this case, most of the dark art was enchanted centuries ago, by long dead magicians, not just by his lordship Albacus.”

  I sank into one of the chairs at Sir Lancelot’s explanation. “And Mordecai isn’t free of distractions.”

  “Yes, Clara,” Marcelo admitted. “Sir Lancelot’s right. It could be a long while.”

  “How’ll we make it with all this chaos? There’s so much we need to work on. You know that Count Washur won’t have forgotten about us.”

  “Yes.” Marcelo turned instantly grim. “There’s no doubt that he’ll be thinking of us more often than I’d like.”

  “Is once not too often?” I asked.

  “Yes. Most definitely.”

  “So what are we to do then? Hide ourselves in the study?” I looked around the room. Marcelo had repaired much of the damage the fire had done when I lost control over it, but I could still see the signs of my ignorance when I looked for them. The walls and ceiling were mostly restored. However, the shelves would never go back to how they were before. Magical books and objects that resisted repair were gone forever; that left loud gaps among the items that remained.

  “We could, though I don’t suppose that would be much fun, would it?” Marcelo said.

  Life had been more unusual and adventurous than I ever dreamed it would be since I arrived in Irele. But I wouldn’t have described any of it as fun. It was perilous, bizarre, frightening, yet also uplifting, inspiring, and empowering. But it wasn’t fun.

  “Clara, there’s something I’ve been thinking about. I didn’t want to mention it before, but this might be the right time for it.” Marcelo ran a hand through his dark hair. “Now that my father’s dead, I’m the rightful heir to his title. Since many suspect me dead, I shouldn’t wait long to claim myself as the Count of Bundry.”

  Of course. I knew the laws of inheritance and the traditions of the aristocracy very well. Why hadn’t I thought of how the Count of Bundry’s death changed things for Marcelo? Another loud thump pounded against the door, providing the reason for me. There’d barely been time to think since the battle.

  But Marcelo had clearly been thinking, anyway. “Which also means that I have a responsibility toward the staff at Bundry and the villagers and probably many other things that I haven’t thought of yet.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “If Mordecai insists on dealing with the art refugees on his own, then it may be the opportunity for me to travel to Bundry.”

  I waited.

  “I’d like you to
come with me. Although Mordecai is a wise and experienced magician, I’m not sure he’d be able to protect you ably as he is now. In a castle with as many threats as this one, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here unless Mordecai were back to himself.”

  “I’d like to come with you. Anything to get away from the madness for a bit.”

  “Regrettably, I can’t guarantee that the Castle of Bundry will be any less mad. Remember, my father lived in it mostly by himself for quite some time. And I have no doubt that Count Washur continued his regular visits. I don’t know before going there whether the castle is also enchanted, and the spells at Bundry could be much more sinister than those here. Are you ready for that?”

  I found it difficult to imagine anything more sinister than what I’d stumbled into here, but I nodded anyway. I had to be ready. I had no other option.

  It was a familiar story since meeting Marcelo. I was continually hurled into situations I wasn’t ready for. No one seemed to teach me much of anything. They just waited until a threat forced me to use my magic.

  My thoughts flashed across my eyes, and Marcelo read them. “The travel will be long, and it will give us the opportunity to speak of magic. You may be able to learn something useful that way.”

  “Yes, that’ll be wonderful.” Already the thought of leaving the craziness and the memories behind was cheering me up.

  “And I fear the Castle of Bundry will give you opportunity for more magical practice than I’d like. I knew my father. It’s easy to imagine the worst of him and what he might have done with my old home.”

  I smiled. “Of your new home. We can fix it up and set it right.” I hoped I wasn’t lying.

  But it helped. I triggered something in Marcelo that made him smile even broader. “Perhaps, once we clear it and tidy it up, it’ll become our home once we marry.”