Кейт Новак - The Wyvern's Spur

Cat looked down at the table, a little less certain that the halfling had been lying to her. “Mistress Ruskettle, about that crystal you saw Jade steal from Flattery—the one as dark as a new moon? Are you sure it was destroyed? You didn’t tell me that just to be sure I wouldn’t go back to Flattery, did you?”

Olive searched Cat’s eager face. The mage wanted that crystal badly. She’d asked Flattery about it—called it a memory crystal. “The crystal. That’s what Flattery promised you if you helped him, isn’t it?” Olive asked.

Cat nodded.

“Let me guess. I’ll bet he told you it would restore your memory,” Olive said.

Cat gasped. “How did you know that? There was no way you could know that,” she insisted angrily.

Olive wondered if she should just tell Cat the truth—that the mage had no past to remember, that she was only created last year. That would certainly loosen her dependence on Flattery—providing she believed me, Olive thought. No, she decided, this is not a good time to start telling the truth—it’s just too unbelievable.

“Answer me, damn it!” Cat demanded.

Olive looked up wearily at the mage. “Jade lost her memory, too. So did Alias. You see, it’s something that runs in your side of the family,” she explained. “It’s the only thing I could think of that would make you desperate enough to take up with someone like Flattery.”

“Was the crystal really destroyed?” Cat asked.

“Yes.”

Cat looked down at her lap, obviously shaken.

“I know you’re not going to like this advice,” Olive said, “but maybe you’d be happier if you gave up dredging your past and concentrated on your future.”

Cat rose angrily to her feet. There were tears in her eyes. “What makes you think my future is worth concentrating on?” she cried.

Before Olive could answer, the mage had fled the dining room, slamming the door behind her. The halfling sighed. There really wasn’t anything more she could do about Cat.

Olive reached for another crumpet, but the crumpet plate was empty. That was too much for her to bear. After all the stress she had been through the past few days, she really needed one more crumpet. She hopped down from her chair and peeked into the kitchen.

Thomas stood at the table with his back to her. Just as she was about to ask if there wasn’t maybe another batch of tea cakes baking in the oven, she noticed what it was the servant was doing.

Preparing a tray of tea things. Like the tray of breakfast things. For whom? Olive asked herself. Is there a sick servant in the attic? No, in a household this small, we would have heard about it. Could Thomas have a fugitive relative? the halfling wondered. In Olive’s family, fugitive relatives were not uncommon.

Why don’t we have a look-see? she decided, creeping behind Giogi’s gentleman’s gentleman as he left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

Giogi stood in the back garden, watching Mother Lleddew drive off in his rented carriage back to the House of the Lady. She seemed very nice. She’d been a good friend of his parents. Still, it was a little shocking to learn she was a were-bear.

Not as shocking as the story about his father, though.

He pulled the spur from his boot and turned it over in his hands a few times. Aunt Dorath must be tearing her hair out right now, afraid that I’ll use this. Or tearing Frefford’s hair out for letting Cat take it to me.

He held the spur out in front of him. Wyvern, he thought, I want to be a wyvern.

He felt no different. He was not shape-shifting.

It’s not working. The spur must know I don’t really want to be a wyvern. Wyverns are beasts. I don’t want to be a beast.

Listen to me, I’m no different than Aunt Dorath. I’ll never be an adventurer like Cole. It’s just not in me.

He headed toward the kitchen door to go inside, but the thought of going back into the stuffy house was unbearable. The fear of having to face Cat and Mistress Ruskettle and explain that he didn’t want to be a wyvern was worse.

I need to groom Daisyeye, he thought.

Whenever he felt really depressed or uncertain, grooming a horse usually helped bring him out of it. He strode to the carriage house and slipped inside.

There was enough light coming through the window to see without lighting the lantern. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, though, from the bright outdoor sunshine. He checked on his buggy first. The rear axle was propped up on a sawhorse so that the broken wheel could be taken out for repairs. The painting that had so startled Birdie was leaning against Daisyeye’s stall. Giogi had asked Thomas to leave it there until he decided whether he wanted to restore and reuse the frame.

The nobleman was reaching for the bucket of Daisyeye’s brushes when he heard a muffled sob from somewhere overhead.

Hello? he thought. Who’s crying in my loft?

As Giogi climbed the ladder, something rustled in the straw. As he reached the top he could see a figure moving into the shadows. He caught a glimpse of yellow silk and gleaming copper and knew who it was immediately. “Cat?” he whispered.

There was a sniff, but the figure did not move out of the shadows. Giogi swung himself into the loft and moved toward the mage. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” Cat answered, keeping her face turned away.

Giogi sat beside her in the hay and turned her gently by the shoulders so that she faced him. Her face was wet and her eyes were red and puffy. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the mage insisted. “Nothing worth crying over. I was just being stupid. Wanting stupid things. I’ve stopped now. See. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what got into me. I never cry.”

“Yes, you do. You cried last night, when you were frightened,” Giogi reminded her.

“Oh.” Cat looked down at her hands. “I’d forgotten that. You must think I’m stupid to cry.”

“No, I don’t. What a thing to say. Everyone cries. It’s like that poem: Soldiers have their fears, something, something, something, ladies are entitled to their tears.”

Cat burst into fresh sobs. Giogi pulled her to his chest and hugged her gently, whispering, “There, there, my little kitty-cat.” Cat grew calmer.

“What’s made you so sad?” Giogi asked.

“You’re so nice,” Cat said, sniffling.

“I could try to be meaner if it would make you happy,” Giogi teased.

“No, you couldn’t,” Cat argued, looking up at him. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Maybe not,” Giogi agreed. “Would it make you cry more if I did something else nice?” he asked.

“Like what?” Cat asked.

Giogi lowered his lips over the mage’s and kissed her slowly. Since she didn’t start crying again, he kissed her again, longer.

“There. That didn’t depress you too badly, now did it?”

“No,” the mage admitted. “It wasn’t stupid, either.”

“Not if you liked it,” Giogi said.

“And I can cry if I like, can’t I?”

“Of course, but I’d rather see you smile.” He began kissing her again, but she turned away and started to cry. “Cat, what is wrong? You have to tell me, darling.”

Through her sobs Cat stammered, “Flattery told me crying was stupid, and kissing was stupid, and, and, other things I wanted were stupid. For the longest time, I believed everything he said, but he was lying, wasn’t he?”

“Flattery is a vile monster,” Giogi said hotly, “and the sooner you forget about him, the better. You won’t ever have to see him again.”

“You don’t understand. He’s my master—”

“Rubbish. You don’t need a master. I can protect you.”

Cat pulled away. “No, Giogi, you can’t. You have to let me finish explaining. I have to tell you. He’s my master, and I was afraid not to do everything he told me.” Cat hesitated, obviously afraid to tell him what she thought he should know.