Chapter Three The Lady Does Dark Magic

CHAPTER THREE

The Lady Does Dark Magic

"The blood oath is the most solemn thing between sky and abyss," said the Last Hope. "It is the sword that cannot be broken, the word that cannot be unspoken. It is placing your shivering soul into someone's palm, and trusting they will not clench their fist. The oath says for all my days, your life is dearer than my life, and if I can be true to you past death, I will. Anybody who makes this oath lightly is lost."

Time of Iron , ANONYMOUS

E mer's mistress had lost her wits.

The evidence was in every word and gesture. Her lady was the most graceful creature in the court, but she was taking ginger steps the way little girls did the first day they donned long gowns. She was using outlandish turns of phrase and twisting her face into unwary expressions, though a lady must not betray her feelings or risk premature wrinkles.

Not to mention Rahela's wildly promiscuous behaviour.

If you asked a courtier, that wasn't new. Emer knew better. She'd heard the lessons given by Rahela's lady mother. You didn't get far throwing your virtue over the windmill for every handsome face. Rahela might let a lowered voice or swaying hips make a promise, but she never fulfilled it. Unless behind closed royal doors.

A peasant had manhandled Rahela and now entered her bedchamber. Emer's lady should have screamed, fainted and on waking ordered the man whipped in the Room of Dread and Anticipation. Emer felt like screaming herself.

Ladies had the privilege of fainting. Maids did not.

Apparently ladies also let their minds break spectacularly under strain, leading them to give melodramatic speeches and offer to perform forbidden rituals.

Rahela seemed genuinely startled by her own pet snake, but today Emer had learned she was no judge of her lady's sincerity. Was this an act? What purpose would it serve to fool servants? Emer had no power save that of her own will, but she concentrated the force of her will on Rahela now. At least, at last, Rahela could tell her the truth.

Rahela held her breath until Emer feared she was trying to induce a swoon.

Lady Rahela let her breath out in a rush. "I'm calm! Others may lose the plot but I have a firm grip on it. The truth is, I have the amnesia."

"You have the what," said Emer.

She'd been told her voice was flat, but she didn't think it had ever been so flat and dry before. Considering Rahela's claim, Emer's soul seemed to shrivel away into a desert.

"Yes, Emer! The amnesia," Rahela repeated with gathering confidence. "Surely you've heard about it. People are struck upon the head or have a shock, and they forget their whole lives or only remember certain interesting details?"

"I have heard of it," Emer admitted.

She didn't believe a word.

Rahela beamed. Emer hadn't seen her make such unguarded expressions since they were children.

Emer's head hurt. Extremely badly, but servants weren't permitted migraines. Emer was used to gritting her teeth and working through pain.

"Which is it?" demanded Key of the Cauldron. "Have you forgotten your whole life or only certain details?"

He was a mannerless peasant, but he wasn't a fool.

Rahela drew herself up haughtily, every inch Emer's lady once again. "How should I know what I forgot?"

Over the years, Emer had become aware that in emergencies she was far quicker on the uptake than either Lady Rahela or her mother. Nobles weren't used to their lives going wrong. When their luck turned bad, they floundered in outraged confusion.

Watching Rahela respond nimbly to disaster was disquieting. Perhaps Rahela had been forced out of complacency by sheer desperation. Perhaps.

Rahela leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "That's why I need you two. Correct me if I make any mistakes. If you see I don't know something, tell me."

Emer shot the peasant a venomous glance. Rahela had never needed anybody but Emer before.

"He doesn't know anything, my lady. He's from the gutter!"

As if their situation wasn't dire enough, they were afflicted with a ruffian from the slums as Rahela's new guard. The last guard was an old man, appointed to Rahela because – before he grew tired of her – the king was jealous of Rahela's favours. This peasant was younger than Emer, and from the Cauldron, so the gutters might be a step up for him. Naturally, as a decent woman, Emer had never been to the Cauldron herself. She visited the Day Market outside the palace walls to buy luxuries for her lady and necessities for herself, going no farther. Gossip belowstairs said the Cauldron was the vilest cesspit in the city.

The gutter guard shot Emer a look sharp and dirty as a cut-throat's blade. Men didn't enjoy being insulted. Emer knew this, as she insulted them often.

Vile as the cesspit he'd crawled out of, Key blew Emer a kiss and returned to watching Emer's lady closely, though not in the usual way. His avid face was hungry not for flesh, but ruin.

"I don't care where he's from," announced proud Lady Rahela. "The point is, I'm totally evil, and I want you to be my evil minions."

"I'm not evil!" snapped Emer. Rahela seemed unconvinced.

A whisper in Emer's mind, soft as Lady Lia murmuring secrets at night, asked Emer if she were sure. She refused to listen. It wasn't Emer's fault. A servant had no choice but to obey her mistress's commands.

Oh, but she'd known betraying Lia was wrong. All along she'd known. Rahela was right.

Key raised his hand. "I'm evil? I think."

Rahela applauded. "That's awesome!"

The gutter scum seemed pleased. "I kill people all the time."

Emer's mind howled like the ghouls in the abyss.

"You kill people? Serially?" Rahela blinked. As though banishing reason with the blink, she smiled. "Great. We may need a series of people killed."

" My lady! "

Rahela made a soothing motion, as if Emer were a child and Rahela rocking her invisible cradle. "Think of this as a story. There are many fun murderers in fiction! We're all just trying to survive. He kills people, you do your wicked mistress's bidding, I flounce around in revealing dresses framing innocent people for crimes. Time to take evil to the next level."

Emer's lady turned her attention back to the drawer, where her snake was wrapped tight around the knife of the Domitian family. The small viper was a mirror of Lady Rahela's bracelet, dark amber-green when her bracelet was orichal gold, the diamond-shaped markings along its coils such a dark brown they seemed almost black. Atop its flat head, ridged at the sides, the diamond pattern formed a black heart.

Rahela dropped a kiss on the viper's head. "I'm calling you Victoria Broccoli."

Seemingly Emer's lady had confused a viper with a lapdog.

Slowly, the viper unwound from around the knife. Rahela slid the knife free of its gold-and-pearl sheath. The gleam of the iron was tinged with crimson, as though Emer were staring at it through a red mist.

This was the birthright reserved for nobles. Rahela was offering it to them.

The words fell from Emer's lips soft and shaken as winter leaves. "You mean it."

"You're out of your mind ," breathed Key of the Cauldron. His smile turned impish. "That's fun."

In days of old, nobles used to swear loyalty to their kings or their lords with the blood oath. Aristocratic lovers pledged to each other. Even nobles had ceased swearing the oath centuries ago. Nobody dared make a promise that could not be broken.

Nobody until now.

"What do you say?" Rahela's eyes danced. "Pledge to be true to me for a year and a day. If you keep faith, you receive the weight of my body in gold."

"Each?" Key sounded ravenous.

"Each," confirmed Rahela. "And I'm not padding this dress. Everything they say about Lady Rahela's enormous… tracts of land is true."

Shock reached Emer only distantly, as though someone scandalized was shouting from a long way away. Close as cloth against Emer's skin was naked greed.

Emer had served her lady faithfully all her days. Much good it had done her.

If she served Rahela for one year more, she would have enough gold to start the new life she dreamed of in her narrow bed, shut up in a cupboard as though a maid was a piece of crockery.

A cottage. A companion who was her equal. Never having to bow her head and say ‘my lady' again. Perhaps she could keep goats, though she'd never seen a goat up close. When Emer's head ached, she could lie down in soothing darkness, and her companion would murmur sweetly, ‘Rest.'

Emer couldn't be loyal to Rahela any longer. She should be loyal to herself.

If she turned away, she would never have a chance at real magic again.

Rahela plunged the knife towards the snowy skin above her ruched bodice.

"My lady, no !" exclaimed Emer, with new and stronger horror.

Evil was one thing. This was a matter of professional pride.

"Right." Rahela's mouth twisted with ready comprehension. "The king won't want me if I'm scarred. I'll leave the girls alone."

Her lady's dark eyes slid to the mirror and widened, seeming as surprised by her own image as she had by the snake. They widened further when her gaze slid down into her own bodice.

She shook her head in wonder. "I can get used to this. I've been a stranger to myself before. After the whole world and your own body changes, you know you're not safe. The world can always turn on you."

Her own body? Emer remembered Rahela being upset when she had a bosom years before all the other girls. Rahela tried to cover her bosom up. When nothing worked, she started showing it off.

The memory provoked something like tenderness, and something like misery. Emer shrugged both off. Rahela rose from her stool and almost tipped over sideways. Key moved too fast for Emer's eye to follow, reaching to steady her. Rahela patted his hand. With her bare hand.

Emer's lady smiled. "Sorry, I'm top-heavy as a double scoop ice-cream cone over here. Where was I?"

Key waved lazily to the knife, as though her life-changing offer affected him not at all. He showed only relaxed curiosity to behold what Rahela might do next.

Emer's heartbeat clanged in her ears like the servants' bell ringing at dawn.

She would never do it. Emer's lady was a soft-handed, pampered creature who had never suffered a moment's physical discomfort.

Standing in the arched doorway, Rahela rolled up one trailing sleeve, exposing a rounded arm. She drew the point of her blade along her arm. Skin parted under sharp steel. Key's eyes brightened as the blood welled.

Her lady's smoky voice was famed in the capital. When Rahela said ‘good morning' men heard her promise a very good night. Now her husky voice promised magic.

"First cut for gods lost in the sky, second for fiends in the abyss."

She made two slashes on the inside of her arm, near the elbow. Blood beaded on the thin lines, tiny rubies glittering on pink string. She cut another, longer line, this one perpendicular to the first two. Forming the hilt of the sword.

"Third cut for me, Rahela Domitia."

"Fourth cut for you, Key…" Rahela waited expectantly.

"Just Key," said Key.

"Nothing else?"

Key's gaze was fixed dreamily on the blood. "I don't have a family name. It's not a family if there's only one of you."

"Okay, just Key. Like Madonna or Rihanna."

Key frowned. "Who?"

"Doesn't matter, not important!" said Rahela. "First cut for you, Key, and for you."

She looked expectantly at Emer, and Emer gazed back without speaking.

Even if Lady Rahela was executed tomorrow, Rahela's mother would redeem her oath. The Domitian family weren't rich, but they were famous for turning out beautiful schemers. Ladies of the Domitian clan could get what they needed. If the mark of an unfulfilled oath was left on a body, the body would be thrown into the abyss. Any family would pay to save their name from desecration. This was an opportunity Emer couldn't refuse.

Desire overcame caution. Emer's teeth clenched, trying to keep the words in her mouth. "Emer ni Domitia."

It was pathetic that Emer's name meant ‘belonging of the Domitians.' Even more pathetic to be Key, and belong to nobody.

"Emer ni Domitia," Rahela repeated softly. Emer's lips curled at the sound coming from her lady's lips. She'd never bothered to feign sympathy before. She needn't pretend now.

Rahela cut another stripe down her arm, longer than the rest, so the hilt now had a blade. The mark of a sword, made by magic and drawn in blood.

"Sorry," said Rahela. "Could someone remind me how this oath goes?"

Emer and Key stared. She shrugged.

"This is a stressful time and I'm a delicate lady. The exact wording slipped my mind."

Key's gaze lingered on the blood staining the white marble. His sudden smile was sunset on a jewel. It made Emer fear the coming dark.

He produced a strange-looking knife with distressing rapidity, cutting his own arm as carelessly as a man cutting bread. The knife disappeared like a magic trick.

"‘By the sword,'" Key sang out mockingly, "‘I swear to be loyal and true, to love all you love, and hate all you hate. You will feel no rain, as I will be a shelter for you. You will feel no hunger or thirst while I have food to give or wine in my cup. When my name is in your mouth, I will always answer, and your name will be my call to arms. I will ever be a shield for your back, and the story told between us will be true. Everything agreed between us, I will carry out, for yours is the will I have chosen.'"

Rahela reflected the wicked gleam of Key's smile. Emer's heart sank below the red horizon as Emer's lady sang the vow back to this outsider. Sealing their pact to be sinful and sacrilegious together, they grinned at each other like children playing a game. Wicked, irreverent children, committing sins and sacrilege without a care.

The ravine's flame illuminated the stained glass, pale red as a drop of blood dripped into a glass of water. The wound on Rahela's arm seemed to catch alight, becoming a fiery sword. The window turned the colour of rich red wine.

Clasping Key's hand, Rahela's face blazed like the windows. The conspirators stood outlined by eldritch radiance.

Rahela declared, "This is our first team meeting. My bedroom is our evil lair, and we're a nest of vipers. From now on, we're evil together."

Have you been availing yourself of the special herbs, my lady?

"Just as you say, my lady," Emer mumbled.

"Beats being evil all by myself," Key murmured.

They stood in a circle, reflected in the bronze mirror. Emer's lady, the poisonous viper, the woman of snow and flame. Her gutter guard with his insincere smiles and cracked leather gloves. Her maid with her stiffly starched apron, turning her face away. Emer didn't like to see the mark. Growing up in the countryside, everyone said Emer was stained with wickedness. It seemed everyone told true.

Rahela laughed. "Let's go, minions! Take me to the king."

"We can't take you to the king," Emer said flatly. "Don't call us minions."

Key made a dissenting sound. It appeared he wished to be an evil minion. He might be desperate to belong, but Emer knew better. Betray desperation, and you invite cruelty.

Rahela had the gall to fix Emer with an accusing stare. "Did you or did you not swear loyalty to me?"

She hadn't. But she wouldn't draw attention to that.

"I didn't say I won't take you, I said I can't!" protested Emer. "He can't either."

Key's smile was a knife pointed directly at Emer. "I'm a gutter brat. I don't know how to behave."

"A servant can't demand an audience with the king!"

The gutter guard's gaze returned to Rahela, calculating. Emer realized with mounting outrage that he was measuring her. And not the worth of her character.

He came to a conclusion. "For her weight in gold, I'd steal the lost god's lost eyes."

"You speak wicked blasphemy," hissed Emer.

"Fluently," said Key. "Follow me, my lady."

He reached for his broad leather belt, tooled with crown shapes in cornflower blue. On one side of the belt hung the scabbard for his sword, and on the other a ring of keys. Lady Rahela spun in a gleeful circle as Key unbarred and unlocked the door. It swung open to reveal stone steps winding into the dark. Key set off down the spiral staircase. Emer's lady cast a single look behind her.

"Coming?"

Emer turned promptly back to her alcove. "You will both be executed. When you are executed, your family will give me your weight in gold. Meanwhile, your heads shall be on spikes atop the palace walls."

"That's it," Rahela encouraged. "Think positive."

Emer's treacherous heart clenched like a fist. "My lady. You can't do this."

"Watch me. This is my villain origin story."

Emer's lady winked, twirled, and went dancing into the shadows to her death.