Antebellum Awakening (5 page)

Leda and Camille came to live at Chatham Castle a month after Mama’s death. Although I didn’t remember much of the first few weeks without her, I knew that I’d slept through most of it. One day I woke up to Leda glaring down at me, fists on her hips, and Camille hopping for joy. The High Priestess had arranged for them to be with me, doing their classes at the castle with Miss Scarlett occasionally checking in. Their presence had been a definite balm for my aching heart.

Our explorations of the castle during the long winter days led us to an old wooden door, behind which a set of winding stairs led to an abandoned room. The turret rose so far above the ground that we could see all of Chatham City and the blurred edge of the rolling horizon from the arched windows. I couldn’t imagine how no one seemed to notice it had been empty for years. Of Chatham’s ten turrets that speared the sky, it was the tallest and widest.

Leda and I came to the conclusion that a vengeful witch had cursed it so no one would go in. Chatham Castle, and all her inhabitants, tended to be a superstitious lot. Perhaps my spreading of the rumor that the ghost of Esmelda—the first High Priestess of the Central Network—had been seen there helped maintain our privacy.

The next morning after breakfast Papa informed me my lessons with Merrick were to start the next day, then ruffled my hair and headed for his office in the Gatehouse. I cleaned up, changed into a fresh cotton dress, and headed for the many steps of the spiraling turret staircase. The tips of my fingers skimmed the walls on either side. Every few steps an arched window about knee high spilled light on the stairs, allowing the fresh air to sing through.

I released a content little sigh. Though the world might crumble around us, the Witchery was always a safe place.

“Merry meet!” I called to my friends when I gained the upper stair.

Leda sat curled on a window seat, her white-blonde hair reflecting the sun like strands of snowflakes. She had a pert little nose that turned up just slightly at the tip, giving her a girlish mien. An ancient book with frayed edges held her attention, as usual. She didn’t bother to look up when I entered, so I ignored her. Leda was a friend better tolerated if she chose when to speak. Asking her a question she didn’t want to answer only led to a reply I didn’t want.

“Merry meet, Bianca,” Camille replied. “What did the High Priestess say last night? Are you in trouble? I hope not! Even if I do think you’re crazy for saving that dragon.”

She stood at the window opposite Leda, where she always watched the Guardians when they trained below. The clash and clang of sword fighting drifted up from the lower bailey, which took up half of the front of Chatham Castle’s walled interior and swept over to the left side.

“Who were you looking at?” I asked instead of answering.

Tiberius, the Head of the Guardians and Papa’s best friend, stood on the Wall, looking down on his charges in the lower bailey like a great bird assessing his prey. Swords and shields glinted in the sunlight as the Guardians sparred. I wondered if Merrick would have me doing the same kinds of routines. Would I learn how to use a sword as well as the Guardians did? I was already skilled with my shield. Perhaps that would give me a small advantage.

“No one in particular,” Camille said with a wave of her wrist, but her eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Bianca, what do you know about Brecken?”

“Brecken?”

“Yes. The Guardian that walked us back yesterday? I tried to get him to talk but he barely said a word.” Her lips pulled down in an uncharacteristic frown. “I can’t figure him out. I’ve never had a problem getting a Guardian to talk to me before. They’re all so excited for the attention of a lady they practically beg me to speak.”

I laughed and stepped away from the window. She had all their affection-starved hearts in her sweet little hands. All except one, it sounded like.

“And who can fathom a Guardian that doesn’t swoon over your every word?” I asked with a dramatic flair. Camille didn’t notice my sarcasm.

“That’s what I was wondering!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. Then she sat down with a happy sigh, her trouble expression disappearing. “Oh, Bianca! Living at Chatham Castle is so much better than school! I’m going to die of jealousy when I have to go back to that wretched old manor in the fall and you get to stay here.”

“I agree,” Leda said, piping up. “Bianca, it’s a waste that you should be here with a library so extensive when you don’t even like studying.”

“Maybe I’ll pick up reading just to spite you," I said in a light-hearted tone. "Then I’ll write out book reports and send them to you so you’re maniacally jealous of me.”

Leda shot me a playful glare from her two differently colored eyes; one was an olive green, the other a light straw. Behind her lay a rigged-up bookshelf, nothing more than an old rotting board held up by two cracked pots. Most of the books she’d smuggled out of the library lay stacked in perfect piles along the shelf and wall. A skinny little bed with tucked covers and a white pillow hid behind the tattered sheet she kept pulled to separate her area. Leda took her own space very seriously.

Camille’s side of the turret looked like it had just weathered a windstorm. Dresses and ribbon clotted the floor and rained from the divan. The doors to an abandoned armoire she’d brought up with the help of a few Guardians were thrown open and belched even more clothes onto the ground. A bouquet of pale pink spring flowers, a gift from one of her many Guardian admirers, wilted in a small vase nearby. She’d forgotten to water them again.

“Merry meet,” another voice said, huffing from climbing the stairs.

Michelle’s burly frame appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the shuffle of her heavy feet. She was tall and hefty for a girl, raised in southern Letum Wood with a family of five brothers that worked as foresters and ran a farm to sustain themselves. Her broad shoulders, disappearing eyes, and thick facial features made her look awkward and boyish. She had been a third-year at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls when the rest of us were first-years.

Fina, the main cook for Chatham Castle, hired Michelle once Miss Mabel’s School for Girls closed down. After Mama’s death, most of the students had been pulled from the school by their parents. With rumors of war threatening from the West, Miss Scarlett finally cancelled the school year until the fall. Because Michelle was so talented in culinary means and wanted to pursue a career with food, Miss Scarlett allowed her to take the final tests.

As a result of her early graduation, Michelle was hired on at Chatham Castle after earning her marks and spent most of her free time with us. Though she had quarters of her own, she often slept on oversized pillows piled into a kind of lumpy mattress on the Witchery floor. Because the school was closed, Leda and Camille continued their lessons with private instruction from Miss Scarlett once a week.

“Why didn’t you levitate the platter up, Michelle?” Leda asked, flummoxed that anyone would do physical labor if magic could do the work for them. Her puny muscles testified to her bookish ways.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Michelle shrugged. “Papa had us do almost everything without magic growing up. He thinks that witches are too lazy now.”

“I’m starving!” Camille declared, pouncing on the platter. “This smells so good! I want to eat it all. Did you already eat with your father, Bianca?”

“Yes,” I said. “But go ahead.”

The four of us sat down in the middle of the turret at the old table we’d dragged up from an abandoned meeting room a couple of floors below. Camille had filched a red and gold Central Network banner with a dragon roaring out of it for the wall. She hung it right next to a white flag she’d started to embroider with the goal of saying
The Witchery
, but she’d gotten halfway through, been distracted and messed up on the C, and now all it said was
The Wits
.

“Have you heard anymore from the High Priestess about your vow?” Leda asked. They were the only ones that knew about the secret vow between me and the High Priestess, and Leda checked in often.

“No,” I said in a clipped tone. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. “I haven’t."

“Are you getting worried?” Camille asked, her concern evident between mouthfuls. “I am. It’s been two months already.”

“Not yet. We still have loads of time.”

“Right, loads.” Camille rolled her eyes and reached for the loaf of brown bread. Leda snatched the crock of butter before Camille could take it and Michelle grabbed a chunk of ham. “Just a few months, really.”

“We might have found a way to control my powers,” I said, hoping to break apart the current discussion. Talking about my almost-certain demise rarely brought me joy.

“Really?” Michelle asked, her small eyes lighting up. “How?”

I filled them in on the conversation with Papa, Merrick, and the High Priestess, including Alvyn’s interrogation and murderous intent. “Papa thinks physical work will help me release my emotions and the powers. I start tomorrow,” I finished, leaning back.

“Oh, goodness. That’s frightening about Alvyn.” Camille blinked, pausing with a slice of bread halfway to her mouth. “But training with Merrick? He’s very handsome. I’d never be able to concentrate on the lesson. I’d just want to stare into those green eyes.”

Her gaze went distant for a second, then she shook her head and bit into her bread with renewed vigor.

“Do you want to do it?” Leda asked, carefully cutting her bread into small, bite-sized pieces. I could see the cogs in her mind spinning. Of the four of us, Leda was the logical planner. A vengeful witch set the Foresight Curse on Leda when she was a baby, which meant that she could see possibilities for the future. They pressed themselves upon her—she certainly didn’t want them—quite often. On rare occasions she would share the future chances with us, but most of the time she wisely kept them to herself. Her gaze went distant and I knew she was looking ahead, into the future, but wouldn’t tell me what she figured out.

“Yes, I do. It will be nice to have something else to think about.”

My sentence hung in the air like a bird stilled in flight. They knew what I didn’t say.
Besides my mother’s death.

“I also want to know why Miss Mabel has witches hunting the forest dragons,” I said, clearing my throat.

“I’ll ask Nicolas,” Michelle said, then instantly blushed. “H-he’s a friend of my mine in the kitchen. He’s obsessed with dragons and has worked at Chatham since he was young, so he’ll know all about them. He talks about them all day.”

“Nicolas, was it?” Camille asked with a sly smile. “You should go with him to the Anniversary ball!”

“No!” Michelle said, averting her eyes. “I-I would never . . . I can’t dance o-or talk to him for very long.”

“Well I can’t wait to go!” Camille leaned back, her eyes glowing. “I’ve always dreamed of wearing a beautiful gown and dancing all night. And the food!”

She draped a lazy arm over her stomach and gave a satisfied sigh.

The High Priestess had deemed it mandatory that I attend the ball, or I would have found a reason not to go. I wondered if that would change now that safety was of greater concern. Leda would have outright refused if Miss Scarlett hadn’t told her she had to attend as part of the curriculum for her second year.

It’ll be a perfect chance to execute the manners I’ve taught you,
she’d said a few days before, setting her sharp eyes mostly on me.
You’ll not get another chance like this for months, even years.

“I certainly won’t be dancing for very long,” Leda said. Crowds of witches activated her curse, overwhelming her with a headache and making it almost impossible to function. “I’ll stay just long enough for Miss Scarlett to see me, and then I’ll leave.”

“Will you be able to go, Bianca?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said with a wicked smile. “I’ll go dressed as a Guardian and show off my newfound talent—sword fighting.”

They stared at me, aghast for a moment, then we all dissolved into a fit of girlish giggles that faded into the sweet perfume of the beautiful spring day.

Running Pains

A
message fluttered into my bedroom the next morning, bringing the early tendrils of sunrise with it. The night-stained sky, with all her fading stars, winked at me from the skinny window on the opposite wall. I closed my eyes and groped blindly for the folded messenger paper hovering over my face until I caught it in my palm. With a groan, I forced myself to sit up. It took several moments to wake up enough to comprehend the message.

Meet me on the Wall in twenty minutes.
—Merrick

Yawning and half-blind from sleep, I stumbled into an old dress with long sleeves, left my feet bare as usual, and crept through the silent halls of Chatham Castle, braiding my hair as I went. A few maids, as weary as I, stumbled through their morning routines, ignoring me.

The air felt chilly when I stepped out into it, prickling the edges of my skin. The Wall, a protective structure several stories high, ringed the front and sides of Chatham Castle proper. Its top had a walkway wide enough to permit three or four carriages abreast. Most Guardians assigned to duty at Chatham Castle lived within the Wall. They called it the Ranks. The Gatehouse, where Papa and Tiberius worked, sat in the middle of the Wall, above the entrance from the road.