“Mirabelle Corveau. Like you, she performed a mysterious disappearing act. Long ago, though. Decades, when Edgard was very young. A wealthy countess, one of his favorites. Quite the firebrand, evidently. Despite her great beauty, her ideas didn’t win her many friends in court. They say,” Sabina leaned closer, now she’d got to the juicy bit, “every autumn when she came to Äbender, she tried to persuade Sangfeder to enroll her as the first woman spellscribe. Being the king’s favorite let her get away with a great many scandals that would send most women into disgrace. But the academy had always refused to admit women. Besides, her idea of magic was too unwieldy, too wild. Dangerous. I wish the books would describe it – they never do, do they? Wouldn’t want anyone getting ideas, I suppose.”
“The witch,” Anya urged.
Sabina huffed a sigh. “They refused, of course, and threatened to have her locked up in an asylum if she didn’t let up. The city was in an uproar; Edgard caved to the pressure anddiscarded her. So, one night, in the dead of winter, she broke into the school, stole some of their books, and repaired to her manor, never to be seen again. Some say she bewitched one of the Master Scribes into helping her.Somesay she bewitched Edgard, but in that case I’d think she’d have been a bit more successful, wouldn’t you?”
Anya nodded tightly, hoping she would get to the point.
“They’ve put much tighter security in place since then, as you can imagine. They never did recover those books. They say her estate was swallowed by the forest, but some say you can still find it on a starless night.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That part’s not in the history books. More whispered in the women’s dorm at Sangfeder, tittering about love spells and the like.”
“You can find it, alright,” Perrine said. “And you’ll pay for it if you do. Anyone who gets too close finds that out the hard way.”
“Rumor says,” Sabina continued, relishing her audience, “her lair is a lavish estate built upon an ancient wetland. Despite the constant flooding, she keeps regal, regimented gardens – though few have seen them, for even to creep up to the iron fence to steal a glimpse risks the witch’s wrath. I’ve always thought she must have an entire army of servants to keep them so pristine.”
Perrine turned to Anya. “Bosquet Mire. It must be the very same.”
“Mirabelle Corveau was refused admittance to Sangfeder,” said Anya. “But women have been admitted to the school for ages, haven’t they?”
“Not really. The first woman spellscribe, Antonia Fellner, earned her license only sixty-one years ago,” Sabina recited. “Older women can be quite resentful. Great Aunt Midge certainly never let me hear the end of it. I told her there was no age restriction on applying, but damn if she’d listen tome.”
Anya held that in common with Great Aunt Midge, losing focus on Sabina as she concentrated on something the spellscribe had said. Sixty-one years. The witch – Countess Mirabelle, if that was indeed who she was – didn’t look a day over thirty.
Anya realized she had no idea exactly how old Edgard was; she hadn’t ever really thought about it before. The crown was like the weather, or the sky: it simply existed. No use thinking about it unless you could use it, or unless it was going to get in your way. Gescany was a country, and a country needed a ruler. It was the way things were. It didn’t make much difference to her who that ruler was when she was beholden to the title no matter who held it.
She interrupted Sabina, who was regaling a rapt Perrine with her exploits in the capital.
“Edgard wants this bird for eternal life. How old is he now?”
Sabina’s eyes lifted as she appeared to count in her head. “At least twelve decades. Though he doesn’t look a day over forty-five. I have done work on him myself, you know. Actually,” she added, pinching Anya’s chin between two fingers, “I could do wonders with you. Such masculine bone structure.” She touched the bridge of Anya’s nose, muttering. “This wants widening…Lower cheek bones? Ah, no, those are truly impeccable.”
Anya batted Sabina’s hands away, glaring. “Save your blood for the king, yes?”
Sabina was unphased. “Oh, he rarely calls me. Though at his age, he needs constant work. But he doesn’t need anyone else; he has Sylas.”
Mira must use her magic to keep herself young, like the king used the scribes. One scribe, in particular. And Mira used the forest.
Though it was called the king’s forest, it was not Edgard who ruled the Lichtenwald. It was not to his deference one bowed when beneath these leaves. And there was only one in the forest who demanded a deference even the sky could not command.
With whose blood did she sustain her rule?
And how long do you have left to wonder?
With a shiver of fear, Anya suddenly felt recovered. She pushed away from the tree and the others, after a moment’s hesitation, followed her.
“Shouldn’t you rest?” Perrine said, looking at Anya as if she might blow away in the soft wind.
“I’m fine,” she said shortly, still hurt over Perrine’s fear of her.
She turned back to Sabina, slowing her step to keep even with her. “Edgard. Whenever he calls. Whatever he asks. Sylas can’t refuse.” She wondered how far Edgard had tested that enforced loyalty.
“He refuses some things,” Sabina said, a bit defensively. “I know he won’t do tongue-tyings. He’s sentimental. Like with his charity work.”
Tongue-tying? What under all seven skies did that mean? What it sounded like, she supposed. While she thought of spellscribes as artists of the flesh more than as healers, she knew they were both. But she had never thought of their magic as a weapon. As she understood it, they took oaths against it. She remembered asking Sylas in mockery what he meant to do with his pen if someone had attacked them in the park. She supposed the limits to the ways a spellscribe could harm another’s body were only of scruples, and imagination. And oaths.
But something else Sabina had said surprised her even more. “Sylas does charity work?”
Sabina nodded primly. “He takes himself to Lower Bunting and scribes for a pittance, far less than the market rate. Cures coughs and colic, birthmarks, bad backs.”
Anya couldn’t contain her surprise. “Why? Is it part of his indenture?”
