“Miss Clem, there are two men in the market!”
I blinked, wondering what this had to do with me. Whether she was attempting to play matchmaker, which she had woefully done with me in the past.
“Are men forbidden from the market these days, Miss Westin?”
“If only they could be,” the baker countered, but then pondered on such a possibility, and her face creased with a frown. “Although my business would surely suffer for it. But no, there are two men—strangers—lurking about town, asking about your father.”
“My father?” I echoed. “Why would they be asking after him?”
Lilac hesitated, and I saw the panic in her expression. Quickly, I moved around the baker and made for the market on quiet tread, hiding behind a stack of empty wire cages at the trader’s stall. Lilac rushed behind me, and we stood in the shadows and watched the two men drift aimlessly about the market.
They were not what I expected. I had envisioned dignitaries sent by the Duke of Bardyllis to collect the town’s dream tax, milling about with rings on every finger. Or perhaps delegates from the Luminous Society, visiting to ensure my father was adhering to all magical laws. Or perhaps descendants of the fallen mountain duchy, such as Imonie and the Fieldings, searching for a safe place to settle. But these two men were dressed in dark clothes, finely tailored, with silk-lined cloaks and rapiers belted at their sides. They were too young to be ranked members of the duke’s court, too inexperienced to be delegates. Nor did they appear to be seeking sanctuary. But they boasted the air of ones who thought they were important, their posture stiff and proper.
They walked past a burning streetlamp, and I finally saw it. The men cast no shadows, and I sensed the illumination within them.
They were magicians.
“How long have they been in Hereswith?” I asked.
“For an hour now,” Lilac said. “They’ve gone from shop to shop, asking where to find your father. None of us will tell them. And Mr. Jeffries—bless him—agreed to put their horses in his stable but closed the inn early, refusing to give them admittance, so they’ve been wandering, seeking hospitality and answers.”
I continued to watch the magicians. One was blond, his hair trimmed short, his face coldly handsome as he knocked on the Brambles’s door. The other magician had dark hair bound with a ribbon, and his face was trapped in a scowl, as if he had smelled something foul. They looked related, one like day, the other like night. Brothers, most likely.
And they could not be here for anything good.
They were uninvited, trespassing on my father’s territory.
“I bet they’re vultures,” I murmured, thinking of all the magicians who visited Hereswith to glean information about the doomed fortress in the clouds. Vultures was the word we used for such people, because they only wanted stories from us before traveling to the mountain doors—the sole passage to the summit, where Seren’s abandoned stronghold waited for someone to arrive and break the curse. One could reach the fortress if they could merely open the mountain doors, which sounded quite simple until one realized the doors were enchanted and impossible to open since the curse first fell a hundred years ago. But it didn’t deter ambitious magicians from trying, and using us along the way.
“Miss Clem,” Lilac whispered. “If they’re vultures . . . why are they asking for your father?”
Her question gave me pause. She was right; when vultures arrived, they wanted to speak to mountain descendants, not the town warden. My voice wavered when I said, “Then they must be here to challenge my father for Hereswith.”
It had been a good while since such an event had occurred. So long, in fact, that I had almost forgotten it always hung as a possibility.
I was ten years old the first time it happened. Two older magicians had come to town on the heels of the southern wind, just before the new moon, and had challenged my father for the right to guard Hereswith from nightmares. A year after that, another set of them had arrived, keen to win the town that thrived in the foothills of the infamous mountains. In both instances, the magicians at least had the courtesy to write to my father a fortnight in advance, informing him of their intentions. And while it didn’t seem fair, the newcomers could lawfully win the title to become warden of the town and displace my father, but only if they defeated the nightmare before Papa did.
He had vanquished the challengers in both instances. But my father was ill tonight. I would most likely face the new moon on my own, and I had never encountered competition when it came to a nightmare’s defeat.
“Are you going to speak with them, Miss Clem?”
I glanced at the baker, who had crossed her arms and was glaring in the direction of the men. “No, I’m not,” I said, relieved the Brambles had refused to open the door to them.
“Then I will.” Before I could ask what she planned to say to them, Lilac marched out into the market and drew their attention with a sharp whistle.
I remained lurking in the stall, and while I couldn’t hear what the baker said, I saw her point to the northern street. Point to where Mazarine’s mansion sat visible on the hill, catching the last hue of the sunset.
I watched, mouth ajar in horror, as the magicians nodded and began to take the northern road, up to the troll’s mansion. I had every intention to go directly home and avoid crossing paths with them. I had every intention to mind my own business and leave the strangers to their fate.
In fact, I made it halfway home before I stopped at the crossroads.
But I turned north and took a side street, rushing over the cobbles, cutting through a neighbor’s garden, jumping a low rock fence, to catch the men before they became Mazarine’s next unexpected meal. If I hadn’t known what she truly was, I wouldn’t have chased after them. Or so I told myself as I hurried to meet them on the road. They were almost at her gate. And I had a moment of hesitation, a moment of doubt. . . .
“The magician you seek doesn’t live here,” I announced.
My voice startled them.
The blond actually made a noise and jumped, to my immense satisfaction, but the dark-headed one only widened his eyes at the sight of me emerging from the dusk.
“Of course the magician lives here,” the blond said with a sweep of his hand. He glanced back to the manor. “This is the finest house in town.”
“The magician doesn’t live here,” I said again, sharper. “And I must say it’s a terrible night to arrive, gentlemen.”
The dark-headed one studied me with hooded eyes. I sensed he was not at all impressed until his gaze drifted to the book of nightmares I held. He saw the flame within me, then, although the dusk made it difficult to measure my lack of shadow. But he said nothing, only brought his gaze back to mine.
The blond, however, was belligerent. His pride was bruised from being turned away and snubbed by every single resident of Hereswith. “We know which night we arrive, miss. And you are not the town magician.”
He meant it as an insult. I only smiled.
“Indeed not. That would be my father.”
The magicians exchanged a careful glance.
“Then you must be Clementine Madigan,” said the dark-headed one.
I had to swallow the shock of that—to hear my name flow from a strange magician’s mouth. I hoped that I didn’t flinch, that my smile didn’t falter. “I am. And you’re both lucky that I’ve chosen to aid you this night, despite the fact that you’ve arrived unannounced. Come, you can sup with my father and me, and we’ll put you up for the night, since the new moon is rising and you need to be off the streets.”