Deep Is the Fen, page 16
I nod. I know the poem well. It’s one of my favorites too. In it, King Llywarch grieves for the sons he sent off to die in battle, lamenting how lonely he feels, ruling without them.
“Of course you know it,” the man says, looking almost apologetic. “Caraway has told me how gifted a student you are.”
I look up at the man sharply. Who is he?
“But where are my manners?” The man rises from his chair gracefully and steps toward me, holding out his hand. “I haven’t introduced myself. Thurmond Boswell.”
I stare at him for a moment, thunderstruck. “You’re…Caraway’s father.”
The man’s smile turns rueful. “I suppose he’s told you what a tyrant I am.”
He’s still holding out his hand, and flustered, I step forward to shake it. His hand is warm, his grip firm, but not bone-crushingly so. “He—You’re not what I expected.”
Thurmond Boswell chuckles. “Caraway always had a flair for the dramatic. When he was seven years old, he decided he wanted to be a circus clown when he grew up. Colored in his nose with a red marker every morning before lessons.”
I can’t imagine Caraway as a circus clown. I can’t really imagine him as a child at all, to be honest. Thurmond Boswell is…nothing like I thought he’d be. He is one of the richest men in Anglyon, with his fancy job at Ilium as well. I thought he’d be tall and stern and forbidding. Not this mild, avuncular man sinking back into his leather armchair and gesturing at the one opposite him.
“Please, join me.”
He leans over to the side table with the tea service, pouring a second cup before I can decline. I perch on the chair, confused but powerfully curious.
“Milk? Sugar? Lemon?”
I shake my head, and he passes me the cup and saucer. I inhale the fragrant steam but do not drink. Mr. Boswell’s eyes flick from the teacup to my lips, and I see the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips.
“You know,” he says conversationally, “Caraway has always struggled to make friends. Until he met you, of course.”
“Me?” I blink. Caraway and I aren’t friends. Are we?
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you, Merriwether Morgan. From the moment Caraway arrived at Candlecott, you treated him like any other student. That was new for him. He’s so used to being toadied to, if you’ll pardon the expression. Being spoiled. Being a Boswell. It’s hard for a child. That’s why we sent him to school in the country, away from all the other wealthy children. He was horribly bullied before he went to Candlecott, has he told you?”
Caraway, bullied? I can’t imagine it.
“I suppose the accident made it worse,” I murmur.
“What accident?” Mr. Boswell asks with a puzzled frown.
“The car accident,” I say. “Caraway’s face. The reason he wears a glamour all the time.”
Mr. Boswell blinks, tilting his head slightly as he considers my words. “Is that what he told you? Interesting.”
He stands abruptly and walks over to lean on the mantelpiece, gazing into the fire, which leaps and crackles under his gaze. “Ms. Morgan, do you have my son’s best interests at heart?”
The scent of lotus and chokeberry seems stronger than before. I take a sip of my tea, without even thinking about it. It’s perfect, steeped exactly how I like it, at precisely the right temperature.
“Of course I do,” I reply, and wonder as the words escape my lips if I really mean it.
Mr. Boswell smiles. “I know you do. I’m an excellent judge of character, it’s something I pride myself on. Caraway has a bright future ahead of him, if he can just stay on the right path. More tea?”
I look down at my tea and realize I’ve drunk it all, but I don’t remember anything after that first sip. Strange.
“Mr. Boswell, can I ask you something?” I say.
He gestures for me to continue. “Of course.”
“Why is Teddy here? I thought that Toad Pr—the Trothal was just for the most senior Toadmen?”
Mr. Boswell steeples his fingers thoughtfully. “Your friend is talented,” he says. “Very talented. I haven’t seen someone with his gift for charms in…decades. I believe he could be the greatest smith of his generation.”
He says this with such certainty that I realize he must somehow have seen Teddy before. Assessed his talent. Has he been to Candlecott?
I blink. “Really?” I ask. “I mean, I know he’s very good. But I didn’t realize…”
Mr. Boswell tilts his head to one side. “He has had a fine apprenticeship in Candlecott, but he needs further instruction. We can help him. Introduce him to the best charmsmiths in Anglyon and beyond. There’s a silversmith in Oenotria who can make unbreakable chains, as fine and delicate as spiderwebs. Or I know of a damascener in Tianxia who can capture a dream in a pendant. Being a Toadman opens doors that would otherwise remain closed to him. Gives him access to tools that he never dreamed could even exist.”
The casual way in which Mr. Boswell talks about illegal magic is genuinely shocking to me. Like he knows that there’s no accountability for him. No auditors will knock on his door and drag him off to a recovery center. It’s Ilium that owns half the recovery centers.
I wonder if he knows about me. What I can do. Did Caraway tell him? Or can the Toadmen sense it somehow? Smell the witch’s curse on me?
“But…” I swallow as I recall the violent snap when the hooded Toad took one of Teddy’s strings.
It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. “It seems barbaric, doesn’t it? But it’s a commitment, something that each of us understands and agrees to. The sacrifice binds us together. We are a brotherhood.”
I think about the spidery brown mettle veins. Is that what he’s talking about? Does giving up a string bind them to all the other Toads? A Toad network?
“The pain lasts only a moment,” Mr. Boswell continues. “And I think you can see”—he gestures around at the opulent library—“that the benefits are well worth a brief moment of discomfort.”
When he puts it like this, it sounds so sensible.
“I know you want what’s best for your friend,” Mr. Boswell says. “Trust me when I assure you that we want that too. That’s why Edward Evans is here. He is our honored guest. I am going to personally introduce him to some of the most powerful men in Anglyon this weekend.”
So reasonable. Kind, even. But I can’t trust him. Can I?
“These connections do not just benefit Edward,” Mr. Boswell adds. “My son informs me that you are a highly intelligent young woman. You may not have any magic ability of your own”—he smiles sympathetically—“but you have talent nonetheless. Having a friend as gifted as Edward Evans will open doors for you too. Not to mention your association with my son.”
His eyes are searching mine, still kind, but with a hypnotic intensity. The scent of lotus and chokeberry is suddenly stifling, and I struggle to keep my eyes open.
“You and I want the same thing. We are on the same side. Will you help me, Ms. Morgan?”
“Yes,” I say, and something chimes inside me, like I’ve sworn a real oath. “I’ll help you.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
He puts down his own teacup and rises to his feet, straightening his cuffs with precise, elegant movements.
“Now I suppose you’ll want to see your friends,” he says. “Why don’t I show you to Edward’s room? This old place is so large, it’s easy to get turned around.”
“Thank you,” I say, standing and moving to put The White Book of Rhydderch back on the shelf.
“Keep it, if you like,” says Mr. Boswell.
“Oh, I—I couldn’t.” I look down at the book. It’s beautiful.
“Consider it a gift from an old Toad.”
“Thank you,” I say again. I’ve never owned a book this beautiful before, and I feel a sudden rush of fondness for this eccentric man who just wants to look after his son.
Outside the library, away from the scented smoke, my head begins to clear. I remember the taste of pond water. Thurmond Boswell may look like a harmless old man, but I’m sure he’s dangerous.
He leads me down a series of corridors and stops outside a plain wooden door.
“I’ll leave you here,” Mr. Boswell says, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t want to intrude on your reunion.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
Why has he brought me here? Why is he acting so kind to me?
Mr. Boswell ducks his head in a little bow, then wanders off down the corridor.
I look at the door threadwise, and my unease lessens somewhat. This is Teddy’s room. He’s inside. And Sol. I just really need to see my best friends. To be with people I trust completely.
I take a breath and knock on the door.
Nobody answers, but when I press my ear against the door, I can hear the low murmur of voices inside. I knock again, but nobody comes.
After a moment’s hesitation, I put my hand to the doorknob and turn. The door isn’t locked, and swings silently open.
Teddy and Sol’s apartment is like a smaller, less-fancy version of the one I’m sharing with Caraway. The door opens into a sitting room, with comfortable-looking chairs facing a hearth with a cheerful fire. I see Teddy’s bag open on the chaise, his clothes strewn about the room, and I smile to myself. He’s such a mess.
The doorway to the bedroom is open, and in a moment, my entire world shifts on its axis, and everything is different.
The bedclothes are rumpled. Bathrobes and towels on the floor. A silver tray with a bottle of amber-colored clurichaun wine, half drunk, and two crystal goblets.
I stare at the smooth curves of Teddy’s arms, his back, his thighs. His sun-kissed skin and golden hair, contrasted against the dark angular limbs of Sol.
In the two heartbeats before they notice me, I see it all, the messy tangle of them, gleaming with sweat. I see Teddy’s head thrown back, his lips parted with pleasure, his expression delirious. And I see Sol, gazing at Teddy through thick lashes, his mouth curling in a smile so breathless and sweet that I know this isn’t the first time they’ve ended up in bed together.
The White Book of Rhydderch slips from my fingers and falls to the carpeted floor with a whump. Sol’s head snaps up, then Teddy’s. There is a moment of shocked eye contact, which is absolutely more than I can bear right now. I leave the book on the carpet and flee, stumbling through the apartment and back out the door. I get halfway down the corridor before I hear him.
“Merry, wait.” It’s Sol, standing in the corridor behind me, hurriedly tying the belt of a fluffy white bathrobe.
I turn, and we stare at each other for a moment.
“Come back in,” he says. “Let us explain.”
I shake my head. “I—I can’t.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. I wanted to, but Teddy said you’d get upset. You wanted this summer to be perfect, and…well, we wanted to give you that.”
For a moment I picture the three of us, lounging by the Mira, our fingers stained purple from damson plum juice. And something wrenches inside me, because now I really know that whatever happens this summer, it isn’t going to be that.
“How long?” I ask.
Sol bites his lip. “A year,” he confesses, his gaze sliding from mine.
A year. Teddy and Sol have been seeing each other for a year. Sneaking around behind my back. Hooking up.
No wonder Sol refused to help me with Teddy. He knew it all, long before I did.
And here was me thinking I was the one Teddy loved.
A part of me expects him to come to the door too. To try to talk me round. But he doesn’t, and that hurts more than anything.
Humiliation burns through me as I remember pressing myself up against Teddy in Deepdene.
“Please,” Sol says. “Nothing needs to change with us. We both still love you. Just come in and you’ll see.”
But I know that Teddy doesn’t want me to come back in. Teddy doesn’t want anything to do with me. He’s made that very clear.
“I—I have to go and get dressed for the ball,” I stammer, and run away.
This time Sol doesn’t follow.
* * *
—
IN STORIES, THE BOY gets his first glimpse of the girl in her ball gown as she comes down a flight of stairs. She pauses demurely so he can take in her beauty. His eyes widen and his breath catches. He tells her she looks beautiful, and she blushes and tries to hide a smile.
I hope Caraway isn’t expecting a moment like that.
He arrives at seven, as promised, to find me sitting on the floor in the bedroom, surrounded by tulle, my face puffy and streaked with tears.
At least I managed to put on the ball gown.
“Morgan? What happened?”
I look up to see Caraway, holding a white cardboard box, a wrinkle of concern between his brows. I’m momentarily distracted from my abject misery by his outfit. He’s wearing a black velvet frock coat with silver-embroidered cuffs, over fitted black trousers and a silk damask waistcoat. A neckcloth spills from his collar in some kind of elaborate knot. Everything is perfectly tailored to show off the angles and contours of his body.
He looks unfathomably good. A perfect ice prince.
“Morgan?” Caraway asks again, his voice gentler this time. He puts down the white box and sinks to his knees about three feet away, which is as close as he can get without navigating the tulle.
“I saw Teddy and Sol.”
Caraway tilts his head to the side. “Did you have another spat with Evans?”
“No. I—They were in bed. Together.”
My voice wobbles on the last word, and I start to cry again. Caraway’s eyebrows rise as understanding dawns.
“I thought it was the three of us,” I sob. “I thought that no matter what happens, no matter where we go, we’d always have each other.”
“And has that changed?”
“Of course it has! Everything has changed. I had this idea in my head of what our friendship was, and…and it was all a lie. I thought we shared everything, but then it turns out that Teddy is a Toad, and Sol is his boyfriend.”
“They still care about you, though.”
I shake my head. “They must think I’m such a fool. I bet they’ve been laughing behind my back this whole time.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I don’t know anything, not anymore,” I say, dissolving into a fresh flood of tears.
I want my ma.
“I get it,” Caraway says. “It hurts when the person you love wants somebody else.”
There’s a rawness to his voice that jerks me out of my self-pity for a moment, and I look over at him. Through the ice of his glamour, I can see the concern on his face. The sympathy. The understanding. It makes me feel a tiny bit less alone.
“I brought you some cake,” he says, and proffers me the white box. “You said you wanted something sweet.”
Enchanted food be damned. If ever there was a time when I needed cake, it’s now. I tear open the box and sigh a little as I see the perfectly sculpted creation inside.
“White fudge and apple, with an ambrosia and greengage filling,” Caraway says. “Shall I get you a fork?”
No time for forks. I sink my fingers into the soft, pillowy layers and scoop out a handful, shoving it into my mouth. It tastes as good as it looks, sweetness spreading through my mouth and diluting the poisonous misery I feel inside.
I am so hungry.
I attack the cake, not caring how I look, or what Caraway must currently be thinking of me. Judging by his expression, he’s slightly alarmed.
“Can I ask you something?” he says when I’ve finished and am licking icing from my fingers.
I nod, and Caraway hands me a napkin before he speaks. “I’ve seen plenty of people hanging around the forge, all moon-eyed for Evans. He’s a good-looking fellow. Would you feel better if he were having a secret relationship with one of them?”
“No.” I’m startled by the vehemence of my voice. “Of course not. Teddy deserves better than them. He deserves…”
Me. I thought he deserved me. But if it isn’t going to be me, then Sol is the next-best thing. And if I’m being entirely honest with myself, Sol is probably the first-best thing.
“They’re kind of perfect for each other,” I admit.
I take a deep breath and try to see through my hurt feelings to the other side. They work together as a couple. Sol’s quiet strength, and Teddy’s brash confidence. I think about all the little affectionate glances they shoot each other. The little touches and grins. I see it all differently now, and I’m suddenly not sad that Teddy isn’t my boyfriend. I’m sad that he and Sol fell in love and I missed it.
I didn’t get to go through it all with them—the anticipation, the tension, the dizzying release and joy when it finally happened.
Caraway is watching me carefully as I go through these mental revelations.
“Getting your heart broken really sucks,” he says. “I’m sorry, Morgan.”
My feelings are hurt, because my best friends didn’t think they could trust me with their secret. I feel…left out.
But my heart isn’t broken.
I realize, with an overwhelming sense of relief, that I don’t love Teddy. I mean, I love him. Of course I do. But I’m not in love with him.
Maybe I never was. I was in love with the idea of it, of him. Of us being together forever, never changing. There was a comfort in that. But…maybe I want more than comfort.
And just like that, the whole future I had imagined for myself is gone, wiped clean like a school blackboard. It’s…terrifying, to have absolutely no idea what might come next. But also kind of exhilarating.
“Come on,” says Caraway, reaching out a hand to me. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I take his cool hand in my rather sticky one and let him pull me to my feet. The tulle and lace settle around me, and Caraway guides me gently into the bathroom and runs the tap, passing me a hand towel after I splash my face with cold water. I look up at myself in the mirror, blotchy and puffy, and see Caraway hovering over my shoulder.
