Shelly Thomas - The Burning Sky

Guilt overwhelmed him: she had come because of the blood oath. There could be no other explanation. He prayed again—desperate, jumbled prayers—for the multitudes to close ranks and keep her out. Instead, she sliced effortlessly through the horde, like a clipper on an open ocean.

You are the stupidest girl in the world.

Mrs. Oakbluff stared at her. Haywood stared at her. The Inquisitor stared at them . The least twitch of recognition . . .

She continued to advance, prettier than all the silk-clad sisters. It was a wonder she had managed to pass herself off as a boy for so long; she would not fool them another minute.

Perhaps she did not intend to. Perhaps she meant to pit her powers against the Inquisitor’s here and now. She would not stand a chance. Among the Inquisitor’s minions were battle-hardened elemental mages with far greater experience than she.

She only stopped when she reached Greencomb the secretary. A second later Greencomb announced, “Mr. Archer Fairfax.”

Fairfax stepped before her greatest enemies and bowed.

Titus’s disbelief reached an excruciating peak. How was it possible that she had not yet been yanked away? What was going on? Yet he dared not glance at either Oakbluff or Haywood, for fear of giving himself away.

“I understand you are His Highness’s faithful companion, Mr. Fairfax,” said Lady Callista.

She had already smiled long and hard this day. Her expression had become stiff, and tinged with fatigue.

“I am a frequent beneficiary of His Highness’s largesse,” said Fairfax. “It seems only fitting that when he requires companionship, I am there to provide it.”

Lady Callista’s eyes widened ever so slightly at Fairfax’s neutral statement on their friendship.

Fairfax bowed again and prepared to yield her place to the next person in line.

“Who are your parents?” asked the Inquisitor, who had not spoken to any of the boys presented so far.

“Mr. and Mrs. Roland Fairfax of Bechuanaland, ma’am.”

“Where in Bechuanaland, precisely?”

“A hundred twenty miles outside Kuruman. Have you been to Bechuanaland, ma’am?”

“No,” said the Inquisitor. “But should the opportunity arise, I will be sure to call on your parents.”

Titus felt as if a giant spider was crawling down his spine. If the Inquisitor were to mount a personal investigation, then Titus’s thin veil of deception would not stand a chance.

Fairfax’s sangfroid did not falter. “They will be honored to receive you, ma’am.”

“We shall see,” said the Inquisitor.

Fairfax bowed one more time and walked away.

Safe for now.

As Iolanthe left, she dared a glance in Master Haywood’s direction. He looked dazed and exhausted, and it took everything in her not to throw the scene into chaos and make away with him.

Mrs. Dawlish’s house was deserted. But Wintervale’s mother was in his room, standing before his desk, writing something.

It had been a frozen moment of horror in Wintervale’s house as Iolanthe realized her mistake. Then Wintervale’s mother had said, I won’t try to murder you again. What help do you need?

Iolanthe had been stunned. But there had been no time to ask questions. She’d hurriedly explained her needs, brought Wintervale’s mother to Mrs. Dawlish’s house, and sent her off with a description of the two mages at whom she should aim a barrage of invalidating spells, so that as Iolanthe stood before Master Haywood and Mrs. Nettle, they would neither be able to access old memories, nor gain new ones while under the spell.

She knocked very softly. Wintervale’s mother turned around. “It’s you.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Iolanthe said. And please don’t lose your sanity now.

“I had better go,” said the not-quite-so-mad woman. “Forgive me. And please do not mind what I said earlier—his choices are not your fault.”

“Whose choices?”

But Wintervale’s mother was already stepping into the wardrobe, a piece of paper in hand. When Iolanthe opened the wardrobe again, it was empty except for a note on the inside of the door.

Dear Lee, I am blocking this portal for now, until I find a more secure means for you to access the house. Love, Mother.

As it turned out, Fairfax was not the last boy from Mrs. Dawlish’s house to be brought before the Inquisitor, nor the second to last. A junior boy had slipped away to buy tobacco in town. A boy in his final year was found in a compromising position with a maid in the headmaster’s household—and dragged back for his inspection.

But even after all the boys had been accounted for, the wait continued as the absent kitchen maid remained absent. Lady Callista had come prepared with snow-white linen and a picnic grand enough for a state banquet. Titus touched nothing, not even a drop of water.

At six o’clock, he rose to join the other rowers for the procession of boats that was to take place at half past. A company of the Inquisitor’s lackeys followed him, jogging along the bank, never letting him leave their sight.

Upstream, the boats were pulled ashore, and the rowers tucked into a special supper. Titus forced himself to eat, so as to appear unconcerned before his minders. Afterward, the rowers took to the boats again to row back downstream. Upon their return, the fireworks would begin.

Night had fallen. The trees along both banks of the river had been lit with miniature candles; the water glittered with their reflections. It would have been a pretty sight had he been in the mood to appreciate it.

Halfway down the river he realized that the mages who had shadowed him were gone. He veered between a bone-melting relief and a stark suspicion that this was the beginning of some new trickery.

Only when he saw that the white canopy had also disappeared did he allow himself to exhale. If the Inquisitor had planned to take him in tonight, she’d have waited for him.

Pushing past the throngs of spectators gathered for the fireworks, he headed back to Mrs. Dawlish’s.

Fairfax was not in her room—the entire floor was empty. But she did leave him a note on her desk. Off to the fireworks. The boys insist.

He returned to his own room, set the kettle to boil, pulled out a tin of biscuits from his cabinet, and slumped down on his bed.

For now, he was safe. But the next Inquisition would happen sooner or later. To protect Fairfax, he must go on the run. The only question was whether she would be safer coming with him or staying behind at Eton.

The kettle boiled. He looked into his cupboard for his favorite leaf, grown in the mist-covered mountains of the West Ponives, a mage realm in the Arabian Sea—and remembered that he had already finished his store. On an ordinary day, he would have settled for a bit of Fairfax’s Earl Grey. But tonight he wanted—needed—the comfort of the familiar before he made decisions that would affect what remained of his life.

He went to Fairfax’s room to vault to his laboratory—and could not. His shock was almost as great as what she must have felt when he tossed her into Ice Lake. Going into the empty house officers’ lounge, he tried again—and again found himself in the same spot. He ran downstairs into the street—and still could not vault.

This was Atlantis’s doing. It went without saying that if he managed to find the boundary of this no-vaulting zone, he would find it heavily guarded. And his flying carpet had been packed away as part of Fairfax’s survival kit, now beyond his reach.

He took a deep breath and told himself he had no need to lose hope. There was always the wardrobe in Wintervale’s room.

But when he opened the door of the wardrobe, he saw a note pasted on the inside. Dear Lee, I am blocking this portal for now, until I find a more secure means for you to access the house. Love, Mother.