Chapter 30

C HAPTER 30

Everyone objected when Cordelia announced that she was going to be the one inside the spell circle.

"It has to be me," she said. "Don't you see?"

"I see that you'll be in the circle with, at best, a deranged stallion and at worst, some kind of demon," said Lord Evermore. "I won't hear of it. I'll say the words."

Cordelia shook her head. "Falada won't hurt me," she said. "I'm the only one he won't hurt. He wouldn't dare. All of Mother's plans hinge on me. Whatever he does, I'm the only one who has any chance of being safe."

Her logic was unassailable, and she knew it. Eventually the others came around, but no one liked it. "Don't worry," said Imogene dryly. "None of us are going to be all that safe. There'll be a line of chalk between us and that same horse, remember?"

Evermore scowled. "I had thought perhaps Willard and I, and one of my men…"

"Absolutely not," said Hester. "You can't order someone to do this. And what would you even say? ‘You, stand here and invoke wine.' No, it's got to be us. I'll take water."

"I agree with Hester," said Imogene. "And obviously I'll take salt."

"Leaving me with wine, I suppose," said Evermore.

"Lady Hester, are you certain? Your knee—"

She folded her arms. "Tom, someone has to draw the triangle around all of us. I'd much rather stand in one place and have you walking around with the chalk."

Willard and Evermore exchanged looks. "I suppose she's right," muttered Evermore. "As usual."

The former butler inclined his head. "I will do my best. And in this case, at least we will have an extra set of hands when something goes wrong."

No one argued. Cordelia just wished that he'd said if instead of when.

They did the spell in late evening. "I've asked three men to stay on to help wrangle the beast, and cleared out the rest of the stablehands for the evening," Evermore said. "They'll likely think I'm a monster for doing this to a horse, but at least this way, fewer of them will be around to stop me."

"Would they try to stop you?" asked Cordelia. "You're their lord."

One corner of Evermore's mouth curved up in a humorless smile. "No man in my stables should stand by and watch a horse mistreated, whether by a king or a beggar. Normally they know that their lord has their back. I suppose tonight we find out how much that's been worth."

There were three stablehands waiting for them, and a very old man. Evermore's breath hissed through his teeth. "Dammit," he muttered. "I hoped Bernard wouldn't catch wind of this."

"Your mistake was asking them to keep silent," said Imogene. "That pretty much guaranteed it would be everywhere by nightfall."

The old man was bowlegged and nearly toothless, but his eyes were as sharp as penny nails. "What's this I hear?" He stomped up to Evermore, heedless of the fact that he was a good head shorter. "What are you planning to do to a beast?"

Evermore looked over Bernard's head, into the depths of the stable, then ushered him away. Cordelia suspected that he was trying to get out of Falada's hearing. She couldn't see the familiar, but one of the stalls was a little lighter than the others, as if the shadows had been lit up by something large and bright.

She could just catch snatches of the men's conversation where she stood.

"… taught you better…" Bernard said, in clear disgust.

Evermore's voice was deeper and harder to make out, but she thought it included Trust me. Judging by the old man's querulous voice, that was asking a great deal.

She looked over her shoulder, to the entrance of the stables. Willard, Hester, and Imogene all stood just to one side. Since it was going to be difficult keeping Falada still, they'd decided to do the ritual as close to the mouth of the stable as possible. There was a post with an iron ring used for hitching horses, and their plan, such as it was, was to tie Falada to the ring and then draw the circle around him.

Cordelia had a feeling that Falada was not going to cooperate.

He'll know something's going on. Somehow. As soon as we start, he'll know and try to break loose.

The stablehands were there to secure the familiar to the post and hobble him there, but Evermore had told them the truth that Falada could not survive the night. They did not look happy about it. Well, and why would they be? If you don't know what he is, it looks like Evermore is going to put down a magnificent horse in his prime. One that doesn't even really belong to him.

"Fine," she heard Bernard growl, stalking back toward them. "I don't know what your father would say, but I'll not stop you. Put those damn ropes away, lads. I'll bring him out myself."

"Bernard…" Evermore's protest was more resigned than sharp. Cordelia watched the old man take a halter off the wall and walk toward the stall.

"Is that safe?" she whispered, even though what she meant was That is most definitely not safe. You should let me do it.

"Bernard could control the Devil himself if he took the form of a horse."

Cordelia swallowed hard.

"Come on then, beauty," she heard the old man crooning from the stable depths. "I know, it's late. But you've been jumping the door and wandering the place at night, haven't you? Don't think Old Bernard doesn't know. Let's have a bit of a walk before you wander, eh? Here we go, over the ears, there's a good beauty…"

Falada emerged from the dark, head high, with the old man holding the halter under his chin. He saw Cordelia and his pale eyes widened just a little.

"Come on, beauty, just a little farther…"

They reached the entrance to the stable and Falada stopped. The old man tried to lead him another step, but the familiar's hooves were set.

"Come now, beauty, nothing to be worried about. You've come out plenty of times by yourself, haven't you? Get a good look, nothing frightening…"

Falada turned his head, looking over Bernard to where the conspirators waited. His nostrils flared and Cordelia had a sudden panicked feeling that the familiar could smell the wine in the bottle that Willard held and the sack of salt in Imogene's hand.

Maybe he doesn't even need to smell them. Maybe he sees like a ghost and they're more real than everything else.

Falada growled. It was a deep, savage sound, far more suited to a mastiff than a horse. The stablehands all stepped back, and one of them cursed. Evermore stiffened and Imogene said something soft and foul, not quite under her breath.

Only Bernard remained calm. If the noise had startled him, he gave no sign. "Gently there, beauty," he said, his voice as soothing as cool water. "No need to make such a fuss. Just come with Old Bernard and I expect I can find a treat for you, eh?"

He stepped forward with such assurance that it was impossible to believe that any horse wouldn't follow. Everyone held their breath.

Which was why Cordelia heard, so clearly, the rubbery crunching sound as Falada turned his head at an impossibly sharp angle and bit the old man's ear off.

Bernard staggered but did not lose his grip on the halter, which was the only reason that Falada didn't trample him at once. He let out a high-pitched yell and went to one knee, blood pouring in sheets down the side of his face.

Falada bounced on his front hooves and giggled.

"Get the ropes on him!" Evermore shouted, but the stablehands were too slow, they were still staring with their jaws slack because horses didn't move like that and they didn't sound like that and in another instant, Bernard was going to lose his grip and the thing that wasn't a horse was going to kill him.

It wasn't courage. Cordelia was clear on that even at the time. Courage was what you did when you were afraid, and as much as she loathed Falada, she did not fear him. She had learned to ride as a toddler, her chubby fingers twined in his mane. He had been her nursemaid. She hated him, she hated every deceitful bone in his body, she hated that she had loved him for most of her life, but she was not afraid.

Cordelia flung herself past the too-slow stablehands and threw herself over the old man, shielding his body with her own. Falada snaked his head down to look at her and she grabbed the rope just as Bernard's grip failed, and for a moment everything froze and she was kneeling in the dirt with the old man's head pressed against her shoulder and his blood spreading hot and sticky across her neck and someone yelled her name and Falada growled again but he couldn't hurt her, she knew he couldn't hurt her and Evermore was shouting "Throw the goddamn ropes!" and finally one landed over Falada's head and tightened around his neck.

He squealed loudly, horselike this time, and then his neck came around at that impossible snakelike angle and one of the stablehands was praying loudly and another one said, "That is not a bloody horse, " in a voice that sounded like a prayer.

Falada grabbed the halter rope just above Cordelia's fingers and yanked it neatly out of her hand. The only rope on him was suddenly the one from the stablehand, and instead of pulling against it, the horse pivoted neatly on his hind hooves, ready to lunge.

Cordelia flung herself forward and threw her arms around the familiar's hind leg.

It was a supremely foolish thing to do with any horse, and even if she hadn't known that, Evermore's shout of "Cordelia, no!" would have warned her, but it worked. Falada froze, and then came down, with incredibly delicacy, not daring to take a step for fear of kicking her. That horrible growling started again, his whole body vibrating as if his rage would shake him apart, but he did not move.

"Cordelia, get away from there!"

"Throw me a rope," Cordelia said hoarsely.

"Cordelia, you'll be killed!"

She wanted to scream. All these adults who were supposed to know how the world worked, who understood things faster and better and knew all the things that Cordelia had never been taught, and none of them could figure out what she was doing? She had Falada, for the love of god, she had him pinned, why wouldn't they stop screaming at her and do what she said ?

" Throw me a rope! " she screamed, and her voice disturbed her because it sounded very much like her mother's.

A rope landed in the dirt beside her.

Her hands shook. She had to wrap her elbow around Falada's hock and her cheek was against his pale hide, which twitched and jumped under her touch. She got the rope around his leg and tried to knot it, but her hands were slick with sweat.

"Here, lass." Gnarled fingers wrapped around hers. Old Bernard, his face a mask of blood, slumped against her. His breath rasped in his throat but his fingers were quick and sure as he helped her pull the knots tight.

She flung the rope toward Evermore and saw him grab it. He and a stablehand went to the post and pulled the rope tight and Cordelia wrapped herself around Old Bernard like the lover she was too young to have and the two crawled together out from under the familiar's hooves.

The moment they were free, Falada threw his head back and roared. He reared again and crow-hopped forward, but the instant he gave up any slack on the leg rope, the two men yanked it tight. The familiar stumbled forward, unbalanced, and crashed to his knees.

"Now!" yelled Evermore, and another rope went over Falada's neck, while Willard threw himself into the fray, pulling on the leg rope.

It took all their strength, and Cordelia darting in to pull a rope taut, but the familiar was well and truly bound. A rope ran from his hind leg to his neck. "Aye, that's right," rasped Old Bernard, slumped against the wall, while Hester pressed a cloth to his head. "Kick too hard and you'll break your neck, you bastard." He rolled his head slightly to look at Evermore. "Shouldn't have doubted you, lad. Whatever that thing is, it's only pretending to be a horse."

"And we aim to stop it," said Evermore. He straightened. Sweat dripped off his face despite the cool night air. "Bernard, I want the doctor to be sent for and you in a bed at once. Ladies… Tom… shall we?"

Falada's lips writhed as Cordelia stepped up to face him. The old man's blood had stained his pale lips. She wound her hands into his mane and leaned in close to him, just as she had a thousand times, ready to whisper her secrets and her frustrations into his ear.

"This is for telling my mother everything, you bastard," she whispered.

It seemed to take an hour for Willard to draw the circle, and then to draw the triangles to hold each of the participants. Falada's lip curled in clear contempt as he watched. Even in the terrible solemnity of the moment, she felt a flash of amusement as Lord Evermore took the wine bottle and then patted helplessly at his pockets.

"Allow me," said Willard, ever proper, taking out a corkscrew. "And would my lord care to sniff the cork?"

Imogene and Hester barked with laughter. Cordelia recognized the slightly hysterical note and didn't dare start laughing herself.

When Willard finally closed the last triangle, he stepped back. "It is done," he said solemnly.

A goose made a very unmagical honking sound and pale shapes waddled out of the gloom. Cordelia laughed then, a hard, hacking sound, and bent her head.

"Will they break the circle?" asked Imogene warily.

"No," said Hester. "Look. They know what they're doing."

And indeed, the geese had stopped a few yards away, their necks tall, watching. "They're guarding us," said Hester. "That's what the sentinels do when the rest of the flock is feeding."

"I'm glad they're on our side, then," said Evermore. "What now?"

"Now each of us must focus on our reagents," said Imogene. It was too dark to read now, but she clutched the book anyway. The chalk was bright against the darkness of the stableyard, but not so bright as Falada. "And Cordelia recites the words."

"For how long?" asked Hester.

"For as long as it takes."

The words were easy. There were not many, and she had read them so many times that they were practically engraved on the backs of her eyelids. She took a deep breath and recited:

By my knowledge and my will

By water, wine, and salt

In the name of Hermes Trismegistus

Let gold return to base metal

Let all that glitters fade away.

Her voice sounded thin and feeble against the darkness, and against the terrible light in Falada's eyes. Surely it was the depth of foolishness to think that mere words and the contents of a pantry could affect something like Falada. Surely this was merely playacting and the chalk outlines were the scribblings of some failed alchemist reduced to writing books instead of turning lead into gold.

Then Hester took a sip of water and the world changed.

Cordelia understood immediately what Penelope had meant. It did not ring, but there was no other word for what happened, for the way the air suddenly pulsed like a plucked string, for something that wasn't exactly a sound or a glow or a wash of heat to flow outward, one note that rang on and on, growing louder instead of softer. It rang over her, ignoring the chalk outlines as if they were nothing, pouring out of Hester like a waterfall.

Falada shrieked as the water-note struck him, throwing his head back until it lashed his flanks, no longer even pretending to be a horse. Cordelia realized that she had stopped breathing, which meant she had stopped chanting, and she started again immediately, "By my knowledge and my will…"

Imogene was next. The salt-note washed out from her and joined the water-note, the two forming a harmony that was stronger than either. Cordelia could feel Imogene and Hester in the harmony, as if she was inside the older women's hearts. She saw Hester's terrible fear of losing herself, whether to love or dependence, and it flowed like water. She tasted Imogene's darkness, the absolute ruthlessness that she kept under lock and key and only allowed to emerge when playing cards, and it tasted like salt on Cordelia's tongue.

If Falada had been a real horse, his anguish would have cut her to the core. The wooden post creaked as he flung his weight against it, twisting violently. It felt like mercy that his movements were so unnatural. She did not need to pity this pale, lashing thing that seemed to have no bones.

"By water, wine, and salt," she gasped, and waited for the wine-note to join the song.

Lord Evermore lowered the bottle, lips stained red… and nothing happened.

No, wait. Is that…? Cordelia strained her senses and caught the faintest vibration, the shadow of a note that should have been rich. She could feel Evermore like the other two, but he was made of earth and stone and the wine-note was being washed away and the inside of his heart was a great hopeless love and she read his loyalty and his courage and that he was a good and decent man but his soul did not taste of wine at all.

Two notes rang against each other, but without their third, they died away finally into silence.

Falada stilled. He lay on the ground, his hind leg suspended in the air by the rope, and his flanks heaved. He closed his eyes, and then the familiar began to laugh.