Wayward Page 17

  The evening was overcast, the dark gathering as Cassia looked up at the Sidus, the symbol of the faith, where it hung high above the temple door. It was a copper sun with flames licking around its edges, melded with a crescent moon. But cloud cover or burning sun, the Sidus would not shine in the light. No Sidus ever did, for the copper was a milky green; tarnished. All such symbols were laid out under the night sky to patina before being placed above temple doorways, as a way of blessing them.

  If Cassia lay under the night sky for long enough, would it do the same as entering the temple and asking the astrologer for guidance? Because she liked stargazing. She did not like temples, or prophecy, or the superstitions of religion.

  Her mother had asked her on one visit home if she went to the temple in Camden.

  “I believe the only way of truly knowing the future is getting there,” she had responded.

  Alana had tutted. “Astrology is not about knowing the future, Cassia,” she had said in the tone of one long accustomed to defending an inclination. Her husband had had no faith, nor did Jupitus. The only one of them she had gotten through to even a little was Ollivan. “Nor is it truly about making the best decisions in the now. We trust in the universe because it made us. It is us. When we honour the stars, we honour ourselves. And if they see fit to grant us guidance, it’s because they acknowledge our devotion. That’s gift enough in itself.”

  “Whatever the guidance?”

  “Of course.”

  Cassia had nothing to say to that, but she suspected astrology was for those who feared being responsible for their own choices.

  What had changed, that she stood before her mother’s temple, weighing the decision to go in? Lev’s comment about the power of the universe over her initiation would never have popped into her mind again if she’d passed. But things had been going from bad to worse since that night, and though she stubbornly held Ollivan in her mind as the architect of her misfortune, in secret, she also had to blame herself. She had failed to recognise that Violet was dangerous because she was lonely. She had let Jasper into her life and trusted him for the same reason. And she was growing sick of wondering where she was going wrong with her magic, but she knew that was down to her too.

  Had she become like her mother, afraid of responsibility? Cassia coveted the freedom to make her own choices. No fear loomed larger in her mind than the way her future might be pulled this way and that by her grandfather’s wishes and needs. Who would win in a battle of wills over her fate – Jupitus or the stars? Perhaps that was why she was here. To entertain the hope that it rested with the stars, she would need to trust in them.

  “Your fortune, my sweet?”

  Cassia looked over her shoulder, and jumped to find the Oracle woman so close.

  The Oracles alone kept a different faith – what need had they of the stars when they Saw their own fates? – and their gods cautioned them against sharing the knowledge their Sight gave them with non-Oracles. But it was not a well-kept rule, particularly when there was money to be made.

  The woman was brandishing a hand in the hopes Cassia would drop a coin into it. When the Oracle passed the guard point to leave the Heart, she would be taxed half of her takings. Reading fortunes in the Heart was a desperate solution to make very little coin, and any Oracle so poor was likely to be untrained in their magic to begin with. Whatever fortune she claimed to See would probably be a lie.

  But Cassia took pity and paid the woman generously, then took her offered hand and let the woman grasp it in both of hers. Proximity allowed an Oracle to See the life of someone more clearly; touch was even more effective.

  “Let me look,” the woman muttered, closing her eyes. “Ah. I See you smiling, but I also See you in pain.”

  “Of course.” Cassia sighed. She hadn’t known she was holding out hope for a real glimpse of her future until the woman started uttering platitudes. “Thank you for your time.”

  She tugged her hand free, and was about to turn away when the woman snatched it back. Her eyes flew open. They rolled in their sockets as the Oracle squeezed her fingers painfully.

  “Why is there such darkness?” she said in one breath.

  “Pardon me?” Cassia’s hand was trapped in the vice of the woman’s grip.

  “You stand before a mirror in candlelight. You’re brushing your hair. Beautiful, black hair.”

  This was a real vision, she realised, but that didn’t make it a meaningful one. Nor was anything the woman might say destined to happen. The future could change. Cassia continued to tug on the woman’s grip, but she would not let her go.

  “You wield immense power.” The woman let out a distressed cry. Cassia stopped struggling. “Why do you use it to do such harm?”

  Harm? Power? Cassia shook her head. “You’re mistaken.”

  The Oracle pulled her closer, until their faces almost touched and her breath gusted on Cassia’s cheeks. “You must confront yourself, girl, or you damn us all.”

  The Oracle pulled away suddenly, blinking as she came back to herself.

  “Confront myself how?” Cassia said. “What is any of that supposed to mean?”

  She stepped forward and the woman jerked back, fear on her face. Her hands hovered before her mouth, fingers trembling.

  “Pray, my girl,” she whispered, backing away. “Pray to whoever will listen.”

  Cassia huffed in irritation as the woman turned and scurried away. If there was truly a version of the future in which she caused terrible harm – one she was on a collision course with at this particular moment in time – she was no wiser as to how to stop it. Confront herself. Confront herself about what?

  She didn’t know, but since she was out this evening looking for answers, she would take a hint when it was handed to her. She started up the steps of the temple. Perhaps she could ask the astrologer to divine what the Oracle had meant about damning them all.

  As she reached the door, a hand grasped her arm. She turned, expecting to find the woman back with another vision, but she was wrong.

  “Jasper,” Cassia breathed. “You’re alright.”

  “Let’s talk,” he said tersely. He pulled her the rest of the way into the temple and to one side of the empty square hall, under the shadow of the arches that encircled the space. Their footsteps echoed off the stone as they swept over the depiction of the constellations, characteristically inlaid in gold into the polished floor. Only a couple of people stood in prayer and contemplation in the hall, while a couple more waited to speak to the astrologer in session. Like many larger temples, one wall of this one opened into an alcove-like observatory, where the astrologer went about their work upon an ornate brass platform. Tradition dictated that they could not speak or be spoken to when upon the platform, but they would come down periodically to tend to the faithful.

  When they stopped, Cassia wrenched her arm away from Jasper and gave him a sour glare. “I’m quite tired of being grabbed at. The next person to try it is going to—”

  “Have their magic drained by a possessed doll?” Jasper’s jaw was tight.

  “Your… your magic is gone?” Cassia gasped.

  For an endless moment, he only glared at her. Then he sighed and let his gaze move away.

  “No. But it was, for a few hours. That’s a powerful artefact you’re using on people, and it sounds like you don’t even know the extent of its effects. Cassia, what in the heavens were you thinking?”

  His words, though low, echoed around the hall, and more than one devotee turned to scowl at them. Cassia moved them behind a pillar and out of sight.

  “It’s not my enchantment.”

  Jasper laughed humourlessly. “I know that.” Then he added, almost to himself, “You couldn’t enchant a duck to quack.”

  Something inside her tightened, then went very still. She watched him react to her shame and hurt as if from somewhere above herself, and wondered distantly why he was looking at her like that; like she was the one who ought to thaw this cold, cold silence.

  Finally, Jasper groaned and shook his head. “Look, I suppose it’s as much my failing as your own. I am supposed to be tutoring you after all. But you understand why you can’t keep the thing, don’t you? Where is it?”

  “Where—” Cassia was a step behind, still unpicking Jasper’s words and realising they didn’t contain an apology. But belatedly, she understood that he was asking for the doll. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean for her to do that to you. She’s not under my control.”

  “All the more reason for you to give it – her – to me. Cassia,” he said, his voice softening. He stepped towards her, raising his hands like he would touch her, and Cassia stepped back, the memory of the previous night turning Jasper’s gesture sharp and hostile. It pulled the overwrought thing inside her back into alignment, and she met his bemused gaze with her sure one.

  “You misunderstand me,” she said firmly. “The enchantment on Violet can’t be turned off and on by a person. She’s not controllable that way. And she’s dangerous.”

  “Let me be the judge of if she’s controllable,” Jasper said, and Cassia clenched her jaw. “I’ve seen magic like this before. I can deal with it.”

  Ollivan had said he and Jasper had found the Guysman spell together. He had also implied Jasper had since expunged all record of it. Cassia’s curiosity got the better of her.

  “What happened between you and my brother?”

  Jasper startled at the sudden turn in the conversation, and his eyes narrowed.

  “You know what happened. He murdered someone. I don’t keep company with people like that.” His words grew slower as he spoke, like he was piecing together the implication of her asking. “Why? What did he say to you?”

  Could Cassia repeat what Ollivan had s
aid to her? More pressingly, could she resist repeating it, and hearing what Jasper had to say? She injected some lightness into her tone and shrugged dismissively.

  “You must know what he can be like with his back to the wall. He said what happened was your doing.”

  Jasper grinned. “He tried to claim the same at the time.”

  “He did?” Cassia hadn’t known that. The details of Ollivan’s crime and banishment had been kept between as few people as possible, and Cassia hadn’t asked. She didn’t need persuading that her hot-headed brother had killed someone in a fight.

  “Thankfully the High Sorcerer knew better than to put any stock in his story.” Jasper’s expression grew wry. “No doubt you’ll be his scapegoat for this business with the doll.”

  Her brain scrambled to deny it, but one look at Jasper’s smirk told her there was no use. Of course he knew Ollivan was behind the Guysman. And perhaps it was good that he did. Ollivan would try to put the blame on her if it would save him. Having Jasper in her corner – as a contingency plan – couldn’t hurt.

  “It doesn’t have to come to that,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “Listen, Cassia, if I’m not mistaken, you took that doll from among my things at the Wending Place, did you not?”

  “Well I—”

  “So regardless of what you think I should or shouldn’t do with it, it belongs to me. And if you don’t give it back, I’m going to be forced to tell your family you’re dabbling in magic beyond your capabilities. I will have to tell them what you did to me, so that they understand just how in over your head you’ve become.” His expression softened. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Cassia. You know that, don’t you?”

  Cassia wasn’t sure what she knew. She had gotten in over her head, and if Ollivan hadn’t already taken Violet off her hands, she would be glad of someone assuming responsibility for her. And she would never believe she ought to stay away from Jasper just because her brother said so. Perhaps he did care for her, and this was all just a perverse way of showing it.

  It didn’t make it not blackmail.

  But Jasper didn’t have the full picture. She could be done with this unpleasantness while doing everything he asked and risking nothing. Ollivan was unravelling the Guysman; may have done so already. If Jasper wanted Violet back, he could have her.

  “Alright,” she said, adding a sigh to her voice for effect. “I’ll get the doll and bring her to you tonight.”

  Jasper released a breath and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Let’s meet in an hour.”

  “In an hour?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “That’s not a problem, is it? If the thing is truly as dangerous as you say, the sooner it’s with me, the better.”

  Cassia would simply have to hope Ollivan had dealt with the enchantment. She could get to the Wending Place, retrieve Violet, and get to Jasper’s in an hour, as long as her brother didn’t try to get in her way. He needn’t know the doll was for Jasper.

  “In an hour, then,” said Cassia, and having lost her desire to pray, she swept from the temple out into the darkening night.

  17

  Ollivan had thought Sybella simply wanted nothing to do with him. It transpired that day that she wanted him dead.

  Since the previous evening, she had devised a further dozen tasks that fell within his presidential remit. Letters announcing his appointment and intentions for his term to the Society’s friends. Proposals and requests from the members, which he learned he could not simply refuse, but must give a reason for each, no matter the answer. There were obscure rules he had not read in the charter and was half-convinced she was making up. If, in one of the endless contests of magical skill between members, no victor could be firmly decided, the President was to declare a winner. If any enchantment was cast upon the walls, doors, or other fixtures of the house itself, the President must rule if the spell improved upon or damaged the room before it could be unravelled.

  Avoiding it all was exhausting. Ollivan wished he could just go home, but he had placed the Guysman in the President’s Sanctuary before he was summoned to the hospital, and there it still sat, next to the notebook containing the spell he had devised to undo it. And Sybella was watching the Sanctuary. He wasn’t sure how, and had to admire whatever enchantment alerted her whenever he transported inside. All he knew was that whenever he found his way there, she appeared, rapping on the door with a stack of papers before he could scoop up the Guysman and the notebook and disappear again. To Ollivan’s overwhelming chagrin, he found it no easier to refuse her now than he ever had before. He feared it was the sight of her brown eyes gathering tears when he had accused her of playing him for a fool, but he couldn’t bring himself to shrug apologetically and transport away, as he would if she were anyone else.

  But he had a way to lose her.

  If any proof was needed that the Society of Gifted Young Sorcerers was an institute of mindless revelry, and not one of learning and magic, it was that the oldest event in its calendar was the spring scavenger hunt. For the truly irresistible prize of being called ‘Your Majesty’ by the whole Society until the summer solstice, Successors competed to be the first to find an ancient tin crown hidden by the Wending Place itself. Historically, more members went missing or were grievously injured during the scavenger hunt than on any other night of the year. In short, it was a riotously good time.

  But Ollivan would be missing it. He began the game with a speech he improvised, having resisted Sybella’s four reminders to write one; he would not waste time and energy on people who did not mind what he said so long as he implied everything they did was important; and who, in any case, were already too drunk to pay attention.

  Then he fed the tin crown into the fire in the common room to activate the spell. He watched in awe with the rest of them as the mirror above the fire misted over, and the first clue scrawled itself onto the glass. Another fifteen or so clues, and the victor would find the crown where the Wending Place had hidden it. With any luck, no one would fall three storeys through a hole that had once been a staircase, or get magically trapped in a suit of armour before the game was up.

  When the Successors had clattered from the room, Sybella among them, Ollivan returned despondently to the Sanctuary. But it was his one chance to deal with the Guysman while Sybella was risking herself with the other members in the name of good fun.

  In the Sanctuary, he sank gratefully into the oversized chair behind his desk, his spine loosening as he did so. Of everything he had unwittingly taken on, he truly had not minded helping at the hospital, but stars; just the thought of two more members’ charitable hours, including his own, on top of what was transpiring to be a less escapable responsibility than he had hoped the presidency would be, was enough to wear him to his core.

  He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to force some liveliness back into himself, and finally pulled the inanimate bundle comprised of his jacket and past transgressions towards him. It smelled of smoke and stale water.

  The place in his notebook was bookmarked and waiting. He had been fine-tuning the spell for months, alongside his plans for the election, in case the latter worked. Yesterday he had written the final version out on hazel wood paper and tucked it inside. He took the spell in hand before unfolding the jacket and breaking the binding spell he’d placed on it. The doll had knocked Jasper unconscious, which had not been among the accidental outcomes he’d been fearing. It left him highly aware that there was no telling what else the artefact was capable of. He would take a moment to be grateful it hadn’t created some kind of cataclysmic magical event, and then he would treat it like it might at any moment.

  When he fully unwrapped the jacket, however, the results were unspectacular. The doll lay there, face down, her hair a damp, knotted clump. She had had ringlets, he believed, before he had thrown a boggy garment over her and left her in it for a day.

  He hesitated, at first for just a flash, the way an animal freezes when it sights a predator; just long enough for the doll to spring at him if it was going to. Yet when it didn’t, he found himself hesitating still.

  So his Guysman had not worked as expected. But what had really happened to Jasper when he was attacked? If he hadn’t been in mortal enmity with the other boy, he would have loved to ask him. It pained him that he would never know. Unless…