The Cup and the Crown (12 page)

“I couldn’t think what to do—I was very young and stupid—so instead of calling for help I just knelt down and touched her cheek, stroked it gently. I was sobbing the whole time because I loved her—I still love her—like nobody else on earth. Then suddenly she gasped and opened her eyes.”

“Oh!” Molly said.

“She didn’t remember any of it, didn’t understand what had happened. She thought she’d just fallen down. And I was glad, because I was sure she’d hate me if she knew. I’ve told her since, some of it; but back then I had to carry it alone, and the pain of it nearly destroyed me. I took to hiding in dark places and wouldn’t let anyone near. I’d go out into the garden sometimes and touch things—caterpillars, beetles—to see if they would die, but they never did.

“Then I started having these visions of another little boy. I saw him playing with a kitten once. He’d ask it questions, and it would answer. Another time I saw him telling his mother that the dustman wouldn’t be coming that day because he’d died in the night. And she scolded him, saying he mustn’t make up dreadful stories like that. But later it turned out to be true. And once I saw him make the fire burn brighter, just with the wave of his hand.

“I realized then that we were alike, this boy and me. We both had these inexplicable powers. I found it comforting, as you can imagine.”

“Yes, I can. I’ve felt like a freak since I was seven years old. I would have been glad back then to know there were others like me.”

“The boy was with me all the time, but he was always a few steps ahead. He became my guide, my model. When he turned himself into a thick-wit at school—took to asking foolish questions and giving the wrong answers—I did the same. I failed my exams, just as he did. And I followed him into the same trade.”

“It was my grandfather, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. But William was different from me in one important respect: his gift was not merely great—it was extraordinary, such as only comes along once in a hundred years. So if
I
could kill my sister with an angry touch, then bring her back to life with my grief—for William it must have felt like holding lightning in his hands. It frightened him terribly. That’s why he kept it hidden. He knew that if he ever learned to
harness
those powers, they might consume him and drive him to do despicable things.”

“Oh, Jakob!”

“What?”

“Did you see—in your visions—the whole of his life?”

“No. I saw him dive into the river—over in Neargate, where the canals come together and flow under the walls—and swim underwater for what seemed like hours, through endless darkness; then there was just a hint of light, and he rose up and out of the water and took this deep, gasping breath, floating in the still waters of the moat. And he was wild with joy, thinking,
I’m free! I’m free!
And that was the end of it. After that vision I never saw him again.”

“Oh.” He could hear the sadness in that single word.

“Tell me.”

“I think he was right to be afraid. He never meant to do harm—indeed, he did a lot of good. He made Loving Cups that caused people to love each other. But in doing that he revealed himself and his powers to the world. Someone forced him to use them in a horrible way—they threatened to kill his family if he didn’t. So he made a beautiful silver bowl as a baby gift for a prince and filled it with a hundred curses.”

Jakob shook his head, refusing to believe it.

“But the prince didn’t die as he was supposed to. William was too smart for that. The curses he made were innocent things, like scraped knees and cold porridge. And he put a guardian spirit in the bowl to make sure everything went as planned—a little man, allover silver, and very kind. He was like a little”—she pressed her thumb and forefinger together as if holding a pinch of salt—“a little fragment of my grandfather, all his wisdom and sweetness, dressed up in a silver suit.” She smiled, remembering. “My grandfather always tempered the metal with his own blood to make the enchantment work. That made us blood relatives, the Guardian said. So he asked me to call him Uncle.”

“You met him—inside the bowl? I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long story. Things didn’t go as planned, and he called me for help. When it was over and all the curses were destroyed, his spirit was released. His body melted back into the bowl. Now his spirit is”—she waved a hand at the sky—“
out there
somewhere. I miss him, Jakob. I miss him very much.”

The bright tip of a full moon was rising over the eastern mountains. Jakob watched it emerge and grow until it hurt his eyes. He knew she hadn’t finished the story. She’d come close, then changed the subject. But he had to know.

“Molly,” he said. “What happened when the curses failed?”

She took a deep breath and let it out, then sat in silence for a while. “William was murdered,” she said.

He covered his face with his hands and felt tears stinging his eyes. “That breaks my heart,” he said. “I always imagined he lived a long and happy life, that he found a girl he fancied, and married her, and spent his days making beautiful things out of silver and gold. . . .”

“He did all that.”

“But not for long.”

“Long enough. He found kind friends and was a great success at his work—he was the youngest master silversmith in the history of the city’s guild. He had a wife and a child he loved. And he died saving their lives.”

“I’m glad. It’s strange—I never met him, just saw him in my visions, but I loved him very much. He was like my closest friend.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Marguerite—”

“Molly, please. Marguerite is for strangers.”

“All right, Molly. It’s my turn to tell you something hard.”

“I thought you just did.”

“This is different. And I’ve been putting it off, because . . .” He plucked a leaf from a lilac bush and rolled it in his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face. “You came here in search of a Loving Cup, and I’ll gladly make you one. But you can’t give it to the king of Westria, because you’ll never see him again. Like death, this is the undiscovered country from which no traveler returns. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

“No!” she said.

“Listen to me: I told you I saw you holding the cup, but I didn’t say what you were wearing. Molly, you were dressed in the robes of a Magus Mästare, and my visions never lie. That’s your future, and the reason you were called here. You possess the Gift of King Magnus, as your grandfather did; and you will spend your life in Harrowsgode Hall, growing your powers and learning—”

She was shaking her head. “That’s not true! I just see things sometimes, same as you.”

“No. You’re altogether different from me. I can sense your power just sitting here beside you. It pours off you like heat from a bonfire. Even my parents know you have the Gift, and they have no powers of perception at all.”

“But how could they possibly—even if it were true?”

“Tell me, when you came to our house, how did they welcome you?”

“Like this,” she said, holding out her hands. “I thought it was a Harrowsgode greeting.”

“Well, it’s not. No one touches hands here without consent. For most people it means nothing; but for those with the Gift, it’s like water running downstream—their spirit flows out of them, revealing their secrets. To take their hands without permission is like going through their underclothes or reading their private letters. We only touch those we love and trust.

“It’s disgusting what my parents did. They were testing you because they sensed you had some of William’s fire, and they wanted to be sure. They didn’t think you’d know the difference.”

“Your mother trembled when she took my hands.”

“I’ll bet she did. I’m glad. I hope it gives her nightmares.”

“Jakob! Marguerite!”
They’d finally been missed.

“
In a minute
, Father!”

“Quick, Jakob—what about Tobias? Will they keep him from leaving, too?”

“Tobias? The friend you mentioned before?”

“Yes. He came with me on the journey.”

“And they
let him into Harrowsgode
?” He was astonished.

“I lied and said we were betrothed. I refused to come without him.”

“Oh, Molly!” He shook his head. “No, they will
not
let him leave.”

That was the least of it, Jakob suspected, but he wouldn’t say any more. He’d heaped enough grief on her already, and there was nothing she could do to help her friend.

“Come
inside
!” Claus called again.

“We have to go, Molly. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“All right. But promise you’ll make me the cup, and as quickly as you can. I’ll figure out the rest. Will you do that for me, please?”

“Of course I will. But it won’t change a thing.”

“They can’t force me to stay here. I won’t let them.”

“Oh, little cousin, you have
no idea
who you’re dealing with.”

“Really, Jakob?” She raised her chin with such childish defiance, it almost made him laugh. “Well, neither do
they
!”

14
Watching

HE ARRIVED AT
the house before dawn. Lights were already glowing in some of the windows—servants, most likely, making preparations for the day ahead. At sunup the porter came out to sweep the steps, and not long after that a servant left, a basket on her arm. When she returned, the basket was so full she needed both hands to carry it. After that nothing much happened for a while.

Then Claus Magnusson came out with his two daughters. The younger one gripped her father’s hand, skipping and bouncing along as they made their way down the street. The older one walked gracefully beside them, her shoulders back, her head held high, and her eyes wide with interest. She reminded him of Molly—they had the same boldness, the same strong spirit. But while the Magnusson girl was confident and serene, Molly was fierce and full of fire.

Well, they’d led very different lives.

He continued to wait.

Mornings came slowly to Harrowsgode, the mountains and tall buildings casting long, cool shadows till the sun was well up in the sky. But by midday the cobbles would be shimmering with heat, and warm currents of air would begin to rise, the ones that lifted his wings and allowed him to soar so effortlessly through the sky.

But not quite yet. The River District was deep in shadow still.

At last something unexpected: a man was approaching the house. He had gray hair and wore academic robes. The raven felt sure that he’d come to visit Molly. A tutor perhaps?

He’d been avoiding the windowsills, which were narrow for a bird of his size, but he needed to hear what the man said. Clapping the air with his great black wings, he rose and circled once, marking a spot on a sill to the right of the entry door, calculating the angle and speed of his descent, then sliding in with a little sideways hop so that he stood pressed close against the window glass. It wasn’t comfortable, but he was steady.

The man looked up for a moment, startled by the sound of wings; then he looked down again as the door opened.

“Dr. Larsson to see the lady Marguerite,” he said.

The porter bowed and ushered the man in.

15
A Little Outing

THE TUTOR, GEROLD LARSSON,
was older than she’d expected, and more distinguished in appearance. He looked as if he ought to be teaching at the university, not giving private lessons to someone like Molly.

“Dr. Magnusson tells me that you were never taught your letters,” he said. “Can this possibly be true?”

“Yes,” she said as if it were a matter of pride. “I was taught nothing at all.”

“Then we shall have some catching up to do.” He said this with relish, as if helping ignorant girls catch up was the thing he liked most in the world.

“I’d rather you taught me Austlinder. I have great need of speaking and no need whatsoever for reading and writing.”

“I think you’ll find, once we get started, that knowing how to read and write is surprisingly useful. But we will do both, never fear.”

There was a thump and rustling at the window just then, and both of them turned to see a raven clinging precariously to the narrow ledge.

“Shoo!” Dr. Larsson shouted, clapping his hands.

With a flutter of wings, the bird disappeared from sight.

“Why did you
do
that?”

He seemed surprised that she should ask. “Birds are filthy creatures,” he said as if stating the obvious. “They leave their droppings on the window ledges and down the sides of the house.”

She went over to the window and looked down into the garden, searching for any sign of the raven. At last she heard a froglike
croooawk
—and there he was, half hidden in a lilac bush.

“I like ravens,” she said without turning around. “And they’re not filthy.”

“I’m sorry, Marguerite. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“They’re beautiful birds.”

“I suppose they are.”

“Stephen says they’re very intelligent.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

“They court by dancing side by side with their sweethearts in the air. And they mate for life.”

“Well, once you’ve learned to read, you can study books on natural philosophy and learn all there is to know about ravens.”

She finally turned away from the window and found him waiting with a gentle smile.

“Excuse me, my dear, but I’d be very grateful if you’d take a seat. Courtesy requires that I remain standing as long as a lady does, and I have very troublesome knees.”

“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know.”

She walked around the little desk and plopped herself down behind it, then waited while Dr. Larsson lowered himself cautiously into a chair. He massaged his knees for a minute, then looked up at Molly and thanked her.

“Now, I believe there’s no better place to start than at the beginning—with the letters of the alphabet. I’ve asked for our meal to be brought in on a tray at twelve-bells. After that we might move on to a bit of language study, using the skills—”