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She walked through the bushes, kicking over rocks, muttering to herself. “Stupid Ivy, stupid father. Bad, horrible, awful holiday. Ooooh you’re going to be a sister, isn’t that wonderful. They can share a bedroom with you since you have the best one. Wouldn’t you like sleeping in the attic, Morrigan? Despite the fact that the house has a million rooms?”
She kept walking for such a while, in fact, that she didn’t even realise until it was far too late, that she was absolutely, completely lost. In the middle of the forest.
She turned around, looking at the trees rising up around her, translucent leaves casting green and golden shapes onto the ground. The sun wasn’t as high in the sky as it had been, westering as always but closer and closer to the ground than she would have liked, considering that she had no clue where she was.
And it was getting cold too.
She was really beginning to regret running off after Ivy’s less than tactful pregnancy announcement when she heard a noise that turned the back of her neck into gooseflesh.
They were holidaying in a more rural part of Great Wolfacre, one of Ivy’s ideas to get away from all of it.
Morrigan privately thought that if she wasn’t interested in being near it, she shouldn’t have gone out of her way to marry the state chancellor.
It hadn’t been bad up until this point, to be fair. She had read her books or written letters to the handful of people she could claim to be friendly with in Jackalfax, if not friends with, and Ivy sunned herself by a lakeside before midges drove her inside, and Grandmother complained and Corvus did work and threatened to fire Left and Right every other moment.
But stupid Ivy had ruined everything. Why should she give up her bedroom for some baby because Ivy thought the view would be good for them? Not only did she predate the baby in Crow Manor, she predated stupid Ivy! That was her room, out of tons available, and she knew it was being done, with a horrifically flimsy excuse, to shuffle her out of there, ignore that she existed a little more.
Put her in the attic so Corvus would see his child by Ivy more than he would see his child by his last wife, or some other power play when all Morrigan wanted to do was read by her window.
But that wasn’t even close to being a problem compared to the thing she had just heard, and the thing she was hearing move now, a great rustling of leaves, undergrowth being overturned and trampled, something coming over here, over to her.
The dragon cull had been completed here last year, clearing them all out, like badgers with tuberculosis. Badgers with tuberculosis that could fly and breathe fire and were… generally massive.
But clearly they hadn’t managed to cull all of them, because Morrigan’s heart was frozen in her chest, her breath drawing as shallow as possible, as two big amber eyes blinked down at her from a scaly face.
She had heard about dragons before, seen photos in the newspapers after they had been brought down by teams, and thought that she might have been terrified by such a thing, scared to death.
She hadn’t realised how beautiful they were though. Not until now.
And massive, and terrifying. But so beautiful.
Some really stupid, awful part of her brain wondered if it was nice that even if she was about to be eaten or immolated, at least she got to look at something so beautiful first.
But it didn’t breathe fire onto her. Nor did it eat her. The great thing just crouched, looking at her. Watching, its eyes flickering to her, a little like a cat with a laser. She hoped that it wasn’t about to pounce.
“Hi,” she said finally, breathing out of her nostrils. It didn’t respond verbally, but it breathed out also, steam so hot that she could feel the temperature change. “Hi, I’m Morrigan.”
She was split, stuck between two choices. Run, and possibly be eaten/burned alive. Stay here, and possibly be eaten/burned alive.
There was a third option too, but unfortunately it also came with the caveat of being eaten/burned alive.
So she approached it, a hand outstretched. Its scales were golden, shining, reflective, a little like a circus mirror where she could see a distorted form of herself as it - they? - rolled their muscles, and shifted position.
This was the stupidest thing she had ever done. It was so, so stupid and she was about to get herself killed. She was about to die. And it was because she was an idiot.
But she kept walking forward. Something about it felt right to her, something she just ought to be doing.
Until she reached its head, which was bigger than her whole ten year old body, would probably be bigger than her father’s, in fact, and stopped, inches from touching them. Centimetres.
They both stood stock still. They were very warm. She wanted to press her hands to them like a fire on a cold night, let herself be heated up by the smooth scales and warm breath.
But it was the dragon who pressed in first, their forehead nudged against hers, so careful for a thing so big. Like they knew she was fragile, at least in comparison, and didn’t want to do her harm.
“Hi,” she said for the third time, catching herself. She held her hands up until they were just away from the dragon’s face. “Is this okay?”
The dragon answered by pressing their head against them.
They stood like that for a minute or so, the sounds of the evening coming in, the chattering of twilight birds, the crickets rubbing their wings together, the hum of insects flying about in the lowering light.
“I should go back,” Morrigan said. “I need to find-” the dragon nudged her again, pushing her away from them, and then gesturing to its back, lowered to the ground. Low enough for her to climb onto.
“You- you want me to climb onto you? But you might be seen - they might get you!” She wasn’t entirely sure how well the dragon understood her words but she got the sense that they understood her tone well enough because they wailed mournfully before shutting their mouth, as if even mourning their own kind was too dangerous here.
They gestured to their back again, and this time she got on. Or tried to. Technically speaking she struggled to haul herself up until with a burst of inspiration, and more than enough eye contact with the dragon, she did a running jump and managed to pull herself into a sitting position, more like how her father rode one of his hunting horses, rather than the side saddle she had been taught with.
“Is this okay?” she muttered. The dragon rumbled quietly in response. She breathed out. “Right, okay. On a dragon. On a dragon in the woods, at night.”
The dragon did not dignify this incredibly obvious statement with any kind of response.
“What now?”
They did not take to the skies immediately, which was a little disappointing, but also relieving. One part of her wanted nothing other than to soar above everything on the ground, see it in miniature, like some kind of map. The other part of her liked being alive.
But all the same, even with the risk, she wanted it. Wanted it so badly, in fact, that she barely screamed when the dragon took off five minutes later.
She clutched onto the spines at the back of their neck, like a cockerel’s comb but bigger, bonier, and more impressive, her hands freezing with the higher altitudes as her legs locked onto the back. The top of a dragon wasn’t quite like a horse, but it was narrow enough that she could have one leg down one side, and the other down on the opposite, aligning her ankles with her hips. She had no reins to hold, and she was clinging on for dear life so there wasn’t much point in keeping her back straight, and besides, this was a flying animal, not a horse. Not everything would be the same.
She obeyed her instincts and moved her body this way and that as they rose and rose and rose, until they were above the trees, the air growing colder and colder. It was night and there weren’t any lights in the trees but she imagined them shrinking below her, so small they would be like toys on a board game to be tossed to the side as she took someone else’s figure.
But she could see the light of the town they had been staying in, so she yelled, “That one! There!” The wind stole the words out of her mouth, or the dragon had changed its mind about helping her though, because they flew in the opposite direction, over to the other side of the forest, further away from the town than she had been to start with.
She wanted to kick herself. What was she doing? What was she thinking? That she could fly a dragon back to where her family was staying and act as if everything was fine? And that she hadn’t flown a dragon?
Dragons were dangerous for goodness sake. People died every year in the culls! This one might not have eaten her back in the forest, but what if they were bringing her to their children? She might well be fresh meat for little hatchlings! And what for? Obeying an instinct in herself? A stupid instinct that was going to get her killed.
She was shaking so badly, trying not to fall off while she cried, that she didn’t even notice that they were descending, into another clearing, further into the forest than she would have ever dared to go.
Where a fire was burning.
They landed with a thump, and she did something awful to her wrists to keep from falling off as they did, screaming the whole time.
But instead of other dragons- instead of hatchlings or big winged lizards hungry for some prey, the fire was being sat around by two humans. Who were, completely understandably, by Morrigan’s consideration, staring at her. And the dragon.
One was thin and tall, and wrapped completely except for a long, broad nose which she suspected might have been freckled in the firelight. The other one was large and stocky, built like a heavy duty athlete, in mucky boots and they had their hat off, which was sitting beside them, and their hair was tied back away from their face, which seemed to be in an expression of absolute astonishment.
The person swore slightly, and then again, standing up very slowly, their eyes on the dragon, and they… they said something. It was to the dragon, not to her, and the dragon responded in a series of clicks and growls.
“It’s okay,” the other person called up to her. They had a posh accent. “You can come off, okay? You’re going to be fine.”
Morrigan looked at the ground several metres below her, her legs now swinging loose, and made an awful strangling noise.
The dragon looked around at her in shock. “What?” she asked.
“You just insulted her… brother I think,” the stocky person said, before saying something to the dragon, who immediately calmed down.
She decided that there was only one thing for it. She jumped, and rolled even before she hit the ground, tucking her head, and ignoring how awful the ground felt, the twigs, bark, and dirt making their way so tightly into her clothes that she would have to wash them at least ten times before she felt they were clean again.
The one who was wrapped up offered her a hand but she pulled herself to her feet. The other one was still talking to the dragon in that strange language which seemed to work to communicate with them- her.
“Are you okay?” the person said, pulling off his hat and offering it to her. He had an absolute shock of red hair, violent and astonishing in the firelight.
“I’m fine,” she took a deep breath. “I really ought to be getting back though, my family-”
“Of course. We can help you.”
Morrigan had her suspicions about how much two strangers in the wood who had been introduced to her via chaotic dragon dismounting, whose names she didn’t even know, would actually help her, but she was also feeling completely wired now, and more interested in the dragon than she was in these two strangers.
“Oh, where are my manners?” he cried. “I’m Jupiter North, this is Nancy Dawson.”
She knew this part, and took his proffered hand, shaking it firmly, “Morrigan Crow.”
His brow wrinkled, “Of Jackalfax?”
She sighed, “Yes. My father won’t pay any ransom for me though, so it’s not worth the effort. Don’t bother.”
He laughed then, clutching quite literally at his sides, “No, no. Not, not here to kidnap you and hold you for ransom, I promise.”
“To be fair,” she said. “That’s what a kidnapper would say.”
He straightened up, looking serious, “Fair enough. We’re-” he gestured at the previously introduced Nancy Dawson. “Just camping, I can assure you.”
“Promise!” yelled Nancy Dawson as she was throwing something red and meaty smelling at the dragon’s open mouth.
“Where are you staying?” Jupiter North asked her. “We can help you get back. Without the, ahem, otherwise necessary explanation,” he eyed up the dragon.
“I’m not even sure they know I’m missing,” she folded her arms. “But I have nowhere better to go.”
“How old are you, Morrigan?” Nancy Dawson asked her.
“Ten,” she folded her arms. “Why?” She could have lied. Perhaps she should have. But she was already alone in the woods with these people at night. There wasn’t much she could do about that now. She supposed if they tried to hurt her, she could probably hit the tall one on the nose, but she didn’t feel as if they were lying to her.
“When do you turn eleven, Morrigan?” he asked.
She told him her birthday, on the second last day of the year. Apparently they had been quite scared that she would be born at midnight on Eventide, and therefore be a Cursed Child, but she had managed to avoid that fate by over twenty four hours.
Nancy Dawson got an expression on her face like she had just had a thought, and Jupiter North was looking over at her as if he knew exactly what that thought was.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t-” he said.
“She flew a dragon bareback for the first time, and she’s not even eleven,” she said, slightly in awe. “And I’m getting up there. The Elders will expect me to produce a candidate one of these days.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to. And I’m the dragonrider here,” she said. “You already have a candidate.”
He put his hands up, “I wasn’t saying- but do think this through, Nan.”
“I am,” she rolled her eyes. “Of course. I don’t know where she’d stay, and-” she turned to Morrigan, who was by this point quite annoyed that they were clearly talking about her in front of her. “Who likes you best in your family?”
She shrugged, “I don’t think any of you do.”
There was nothing worse than being pitied obviously by two adults.
“We can’t forge that,” he said. “I can fudge the immigration forms, but not the permission from the guardians.”
“But we have time,” Nancy insisted. “But,” she paused. “I don’t have a spare room.” She was hinting at something, but Morrigan wasn’t quite sure what.
He sighed, “Yes, of course. But we have to get the permission slip signed.”
“We will,” Nancy said, just as Morrigan yelled.
“WOULD ANYONE LIKE TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU’RE EVEN TALKING ABOUT?”
The dragon curled up in a ball and puffed out some smoke. She glared at it, as the adults zoned back into the fact that she was present and currently demanding answers.
“For now,” Jupiter said. “We should probably get you back to your family. We can talk about next steps later,” he eyed Nancy meaningfully.
“You’re avoiding the question,” she crossed her arms.
He pressed his hands together, pointing them almost at her, “Ah right, well. Ohhh-kay. Right.”
“Still avoiding.”
“Shush, I’m trying to think about how to explain it. Hmmm, you know how there’s four states in the Wintersea Republic?”
“Yes,” she frowned.
“Well what if I told you that there was one more state in the Unnamed Realm?”
“I would call you a liar.”
Nancy snorted, “He’s not lying, Morrigan. It’s across the Harrow Strait and it’s one of the best places in the world.”
“Is it?” she crossed her arms. “I suppose I wouldn’t be able to find it on a map. How would I know if you’re lying or not?”
“Good point,” Jupiter hummed. “But wouldn’t you say that there are stranger things in life than you can explain? Like how you managed to ride a wild dragon without being eaten?”
“That was weird,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean that there’s a secret fifth state that no one knows about or everyone is specifically lying to me about.”
“And what if I showed you that secret fifth state?” Nancy said. “Would you believe us then?”
“Why do you want me to know about it so badly?”
“I would like to sponsor your entry into a society there,” Nancy said simply. “To be your patron so you could enter the trials and hopefully get in.”
“Alright,” she said, not missing the trials and hopefully. “You need a parent or guardian’s signature though to become my patron officially. My father would never agree, and that’s saying if I believe you.”
“We can get that,” Jupiter said confidently. “Never fear.”
Morrigan had much fear, which was sensible considering she was in the middle of the forest at night with a) a dragon b) two strangers who were trying to persuade her that the way she had always viewed the world was actually wrong and there was a secret fifth state. But she breathed deeply, and for some stupid reason followed them, and she eventually found herself at the door of their rooms at their holiday resort, covered in dirt, and ready for a bath, and with more questions than she had ever considered in her life before.
Left opened the door, his eyes wide.
“Have I been missed?” she asked blandly, noticing that Jupiter and Nan had disappeared at some point.
“No,” he said. “Not by-” his eyes flicked towards the study. “But you might be soon.”
“I’ll go clean up,” she said, lips tightening. “Thanks.”
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
“Hello,” for some reason a Captain of the League of Explorers, a member of the Wundrous Society, was sitting on his couch, drinking tea.
“Um, hi,” Hawthorne faltered. “Hello.”
“Sit down,” his mum urged, patting the sofa beside her. “Captain North is here because of you.”
“He is?” he squeaked, and immediately blushed.
Captain North grinned, “I am.”
There were only so many reasons a member of the Wundrous Society would show up in your living room a few weeks before bid day, but he could be wrong. Hawthorne would need to have a knack to become a candidate.
He’d wanted one when he was small. Dreamed about it. Getting to take the Trials, joining the Society, being in a Unit. A few times, he and his family went to watch the Show Trial, and they would gasp and aww when names got put onto the leaderboard and other names dropped off.
But none of the Swifts had knacks. Not all knacks passed through families, but a lot of them did, and besides, he had never shown evidence of even one. So by the time he was nine or ten, he had quite given up on his dream of joining Unit 919.
But it was nice to think about, all the same.
“Why?” he narrowed his eyes.
“I was wondering,” he began. “If you would like to be my candidate for the Wundrous Society.”
“If I-” he started as his mum grabbed his arm in excitement. “But I don’t have a knack,” he said.
“That you know of,” Captain North said. He slapped his thighs and stood, “I have to go, but-” he pointed at Hawthorne. “Be ready for Bid Day.”
He was gone, brolly in hand and whistling a jaunty tune before Hawthorne could even say I will be.
But you don’t even have a knack said Homer’s chalkboard.
He shrugged, “Captain North said that I know of. Besides, it’s not like I’m getting any other bids.”
His parents frowned at each other from across the table. He was apprehensive about this, but happy too. Baby Dave gurgled from her chair, and, with a fairly impressive arm, chucked her mush at Hawthorne’s eye.
“Urgh! Baby Dave! That’s disgusting,” he wiped his face with the side of his sleeve while his dad groaned at him not to do that.
She scowled at her, face turning red and eyes bulging until she burst into tears.
“Hawthorne,” his mum groaned.
“She hit me! In the eye,” he stretched out the rim of his bottom eyelid to prove it.
His mum laughed, “She’s less than a year old. That’s an impressive throw. Maybe she’ll have a knack for sports or something.”
They all fell silent, turning back to the original topic.
“I mean… what could it be?” his dad said. “I don’t think being annoying is a knack but I could be wrong.”
He rolled his eyes, “Thanks dad.”
“Making armpit farts?” his mum suggested.
“You’re pretty good at those,” his dad agreed.
Baby Dave blew bubbles out of her mouth at him.
Homer rolled his eyes If you don’t get in, you can come to the Conservatory of Thought with me.
They all laughed, “Could you imagine Hawthorne trying to stay silent except for one day of the year?” his mum said. “He’d explode.”
He sighed, “I would blow up in five seconds.”
“Maybe that’s your knack,” his dad said. “You do like fire.”
“Because it’s awesome,” he defended himself. “And I only blew up school property thrice.”
“Once,” his mum frowned at him.
He raised a finger, grinning, “They caught me once. I got better.”
“So you are the reason they had to replace the PE building,” his mum said. “I told them that they were off their rockers for accusing you.”
“Well, no. That one was just a gas leak, actually. But the boys’ bathroom incident was me, and so was the science classroom.”
Homer had a hand clapped over his mouth, his shoulders heaving silently. His parents looked halfway amused and horrified.
“But,” he clapped his hands. “The last thing I blew up was two years ago, so statute of limitations applies,” he scooped the rest of his dinner into his mouth and disappeared out of the room before he could be ordered back to a) explain himself b) do the dishes.
His window was easy enough to climb out onto the roof. His family’s home wasn’t an impressive height, just two storeys, but he liked to perch at the very top, and look out onto the streets of terraced houses quieten down for the night around him while other parts of the city bustled and lit up the darker it got. He could spot the tall outline of the Hotel Deucalion, the roof lit up. Maybe they were having a party.
Maybe when he was Captain North’s - Jupiter? Should he call him Jupiter now? - official candidate, he could go see the hotel.
Somewhere, under his breath, he started humming, looking out onto the city.
He was going to take the Trials. And he knew, somehow, that he was going to be in the Wundrous Society. It sounded so right to him.
He started saying the words of the rhyme now. It was an old fashioned one, his siblings had taught it to him since his birthday was on Eventide, until their parents made them stop.
Morningtide’s child is merry and mild
Eventide’s child is wicked and wild
He shut his eyes, enjoying the sounds of motorcars in the distance honking at each other, people talking from around a thousand dinner tables, playing cards in a thousand living rooms, thousands walking down hundreds of streets. It was strange but this evening made him feel connected to all parts of Nevermoor.
He got to the end of the song and opened his eyes, only to be blinded by all the sudden light around him.
Then he yelped and fell off the roof into the bushes below.
“Dave, help him!” his mum called from down the hall.
“I don’t want more ice chips,” Hawthorne whined. “I want proper food.”
“Let me ask the doctor,” Dave said, although he did pass the cup of ice chips to Hawthorne.
“I broke both my legs, how is that going to affect how I eat?”
“We just want to check with the doctor first.”
He did end up getting food, but it was hospital food so he didn’t much care for it anyway. Better than ice chips, but by how much?
“Mum?” he asked while they were leaving the hospital.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any way for me to see Jupiter North? I need to talk to him.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he clasped his hands under his chin.
“I fell off the roof,” he said slowly. “Because I was surprised.”
Jupiter’s face was inscrutable. He gave absolutely nothing away.
Hawthorne pressed, starting to hum the song he had heard before, and then started singing. His singing was nothing to speak of, Homer had been the one in choir when they were younger, not him, but he managed enough anyway.
“Morningtide’s child is merry and mild,” and just like last time, the golden light returned. He had some of it cupped in his hand before he looked back at Jupiter, “What is this?”
His eyes were wide, “Ah, well.”
“Is this something with my knack?”
He nodded slowly, “It’s certainly a part of it.”
“What is this?” he asked, staring at it again. It was bright, like thousands of tiny suns sitting right next to him, but it was like it wanted him to do something.
“I suppose this is unavoidable,” Jupiter sighed. “I had hoped to tell you later than this, I wasn’t sure if-,” he scratched his chin. “Well, I might as well tell you directly. You’re a wundersmith.”
He dropped his tea. Thankfully it missed his casts. Unfortunately it hit the sofa. Which already had a million stains on it. “I’m a what?” his voice cracked and he winced. Now was not the time for that.
“It’s not a bad thing to be a wundersmith,” he said, picking up the teacup, and pulling out his handkerchief to dab at the sofa where he had spilled it.
Hawthorne heartily disagreed. And said so. “The wundersmith killed so many people,” he said in a quiet voice. “Am I like that too?”
“Ezra Squall, whom you know as that particular wundersmith, killed a lot of people,” Jupiter corrected gently. “He was one wundersmith. Wundersmiths were - are - people, and some people do bad things unfortunately, just like how some people do good things. There have been good wundersmiths, just like there have been bad wundersmiths, and probably a lot of mediocre wundersmiths too.”
Hawthorne tried to keep his breathing even, but the time Jupiter had left to go do something at the League or whatever, he was thinking about his reflection in the mirror tomorrow. Would he see himself like Ezra Squall? Hollowed mouth and black eyes, even the white bit.
The Trials were months away. They weren’t even at the Wundrous Welcome yet, or even Bid Day, although he had picked his outfit for the welcome with his mum already. How could he go through the Trials with this secret about himself? How could they not see it on his face? How had no one known? How had he not known?
He didn’t go out onto the roof that night. Not least because he literally couldn’t. But it took him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally dreamed it was of a white haired old man with a horrible cackling laugh.
“Are you okay?” a man on his street asked as he rolled his eyes at his homework, trying to focus but utterly failing to.
“I’m fine,” he looked up. He had never met this man in his life, but something about him seemed familiar, a little bit. He had light brown hair which was neatly combed back, and was wearing a suit that looked like it had cost more than the kitchen renovation his parents had done last year. “Can I help you?”
“Ah yes, actually,” he winked at him conspiratorially. “I was trying to find my friend’s house but I think I’ve been a little turned around. Could you tell me how to get to it?”
He told him the address and Hawthorne shook his head, “Sorry, that doesn’t sound like any address around here.”
The man’s brow furrowed, “Ah, no worry. I’ll find my own way. Good health to you, sorry what was your name?”
He couldn’t seem to find a reason to lie. Also his surname was written on the post box next to the man, “Hawthorne Swift.”
“Ah, I’m Mr Jones.”
“Nice meeting you,” he waved him off, and looked back to his homework, almost wishing he had another good distraction. That might be comforting about getting into the Wundrous Society. He bet they didn’t set homework like this. If they got homework, it was probably something exciting, like jumping off a rooftop or being chased by a bear. Not a sheet of boring maths problems, the first the same as the second, the same as the last. Dull, boring, stupid.
His mum came outside just as he was scribbling down the last part of the working for the answer, sitting next to him, “Are you okay Hawthorne? You’ve been quiet since you talked to Jupiter. That’s not like you.”
He sighed, “Mum, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell?”
“Cross my heart and swear to die,” she said completely seriously.
And he told her.
SPRING OF ONE, PROUDFOOT HOUSE
Morrigan straightened her jacket as Nan waved over Jupiter and his candidate, a friendly looking boy whom she’d heard a lot about in the few weeks she had been staying in Nevermoor at the Deucalion already, but hadn’t met yet.
Jupiter had already advised her not to ask what his knack was, in general it was a bit of a personal question apparently unless it was openly said. Nan said if you were in the society it was different since everyone had a knack and because of the Show Trial obviously.
Her heart was in her throat every time she thought about the Show Trial. Performing in front of so many people, when she had only been riding regularly for a few weeks was awful.
But even she couldn’t deny that what she had for it, was absolutely a knack. Everyone at the League at her level had been riding for years and years, and she found it so natural compared to pretty much anything else in her life. It was like she had been made for it.
But that didn’t mean that she didn’t miss the dragon she had left in Great Wolfacre. Nan assured her that she had led her to safety, to a place the Wintersea Party wouldn’t cull, since it was somewhere in the Free State along the Harrow Strait. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss her though. Flying around the Junior League’s arena was amazing but it wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as it had been flying over the forest, clutching on for dear life.
She wondered if her love of adrenaline rushes, of the moment when she was doing a flip with a dragon and there was the moment that lasted forever and ended too soon, where she was completely upside down, the top of her skull facing the floor, being held on more by the forces of physics and her legs dug into the sides of the saddle, might get her killed one day, but that was a problem for later Morrigan, not current Morrigan.
Current Morrigan’s problem was this garden party.
She had been to a few with her father, before and after he had married Ivy and they had all been terrible. She disliked being pitied as the poor motherless child, something which was said far too many times within her hearing, and she disliked how obnoxious everyone was at them. There were no genuine compliments, only backhanded comments, bee stings, and inevitably spiked punch.
Nan handed her a glass with wriggly things in it but she didn’t smell any alcohol so she drank it quite happily.
“Hawthorne Swift,” Jupiter was saying, his hand on his candidate’s shoulder. “Meet Nan Dawson, five time Free State Dragonriding Tournament Champion, and her candidate, Morrigan Crow.”
“I saw you ride in your last tournament,” Hawthorne gushed to Nan and then flinched, probably remembering what had happened after that had ended. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Nan grinned. “It was good riding, weren’t it? Shame it was ruined by poor sportsmanship. Absolute beasts,” she paused. “And I’m not talking about the dragon either.”
Morrigan snorted into her punch as Jupiter and Hawthorne both laughed their heads off.
Eventually she and Hawthorne wandered off to find other children while Nan and Jupiter mingled with other society members.
“She’s a bit of a cow, isn’t she?” said Hawthorne, watching one of the girls berate another one with her entourage laughing alongside her.
“More than a bit,” said a voice.
Morrigan jumped. She hadn’t even heard anyone coming, but there was someone standing in front of her, and suddenly all she wanted to do was throw a jelly sculpture on Noelle.
“Why are we doing this?” asked Hawthorne as they climbed up to the balcony. “That girl just told you to do it and you’re doing it?”
“What girl?” she asked, right before she dropped the sculpture right onto Noelle’s stupid head. The girl from the nunnery scurried away in the chaos.
Hawthorne looked at her like she had forgotten something especially important but shook himself, “Doesn’t matter. Did you see that barrel over in the gardens? I need help moving it.”
Releasing toads into a garden party absolutely made the best ending that Morrigan had ever come up with, before Jupiter took her back to the Deucalion, apparently delighted that she and Hawthorne were getting along. She almost asked what his knack was there, but kept her mouth shut. Hawthorne would tell her, if he wanted, in his own time. She would just have to accept that.
“Who are you?” Morrigan asked, aware of how rude she was being, but was slightly too quiet to care. “Your voice sounds familiar.”
The man in the silver scarf looked confused, “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah,” she clicked her fingers a couple of times, “I’ve heard you on the wireless a few times. You work for Ezra Squall, don’t you? You’re the spokesman for Squall Industries.”
His eyes widened momentarily, “And who might you be, child, if you have access to Republic Radio channels all the way over in the Free State?”
“I’m not operating a private radio,” she shrugged. “And don’t avoid the question, if you’re from the Republic, how are you here? The borders are closed.”
He looked her up and down, apparently unimpressed, “Are they?”
“Who were you talking to?” Jack asked, book in hand, not holding his torch, even though they were all supposed to be looking for the escaped shadow wolf together.
“Was that Mr Jones?” Hawthorne said, panting slightly as he jogged over to them.
“It’s- I don’t know his name.”
“Okay,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Second question, why were you in the South Wing? No one’s supposed to go in there,” his voice had the same tone of voice that some of her new peers at the Junior League had, that sneering upturned nose sound, why are you doing that? You’ve only started riding this year? I can see that. She very badly wanted to punch him, but just about restrained herself, clutching her hands as fists, and dragging Hawthorne away.
“He’s awful,” she complained.
“He’s a brat,” Hawthorne agreed. “What did you say to Mr Jones?”
“Is that his name?” she said. “He’s from the Republic. I’ve heard his voice on the wireless. He works for Ezra Squall.”
Hawthorne paled, “Ezra Squall? Really? Are you sure?”
“Why?” she looked up from the tiles on the floor, carefully stepping from one to another without putting a foot wrong. “Do you know him?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said weakly. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m listening,” she said, her face solemn.
“I’m a wundersmith.”
“What’s that?”
He sighed.
Morrigan took a minute to process everything he’d told her, “But I can’t see this light,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “No one can see it, except a wundersmith, or a witness, but they can see everything so it doesn’t really count.”
“Right,” she nodded slowly. “So you can make a light happen which only a handful of people can see and this somehow makes you… evil?”
“Um,” he faltered. “Yeah, that’s about it.”
“How does the light make you evil?”
“Well,” he blew air out from between his lips noisily. “Jupiter says it doesn’t but the last person who could do it was - is - Ezra Squall, and he’s-”
“Terrible, yeah,” she said. “I don’t see how that’s cause and effect though.”
“You and Jupiter are both so annoying,” he groaned. “Fine, it doesn’t make me evil. Happy now?”
“Sure,” she rolled the dice again and groaned. “Your turn. What’s your steed going to be for the Chase Trial?”
“Not sure yet,” he said. “I should probably start badgering Jupiter about it. What about you? No winged animals, so no chance of you… acquiring a dragon.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “I’ll have to ask Nan, I guess.”
“You seem quieter than usual,” his mum said, pushing the parsnips in his direction.
Hawthorne, fundamentally opposed to all vegetables, pushed them away, “I’m fine.”
“You’re quieter than Homer,” his dad said, nodding at his older brother, who was shovelling roasted parsnips, and thyme and honey baked carrots into his mouth with wild abandon. Apparently his vow of silence didn’t extend to not making gross mouth noises at dinner.
Homer did a hand gesture at all of them which made his mum snicker and his dad groan.
“I’m fine. I’m just thinking about the Trials,” he tried to smile but it turned into something more akin to the expression you made when someone kicked a hundred puppies in front of you. That was probably what Ezra Squall did on the weekends.
“Course,” his mum said. “You’ll be fine at the Chase Trial though. I’ve been reading up on how it works and as long as you have a stable steed, you’ll be fine. Just hold your nerve. And don’t break your legs again, if you can avoid it. It might make your third trial difficult.”
He snorted, “I’ll do my best.”
Homer scribbled something, and then presented it to the whole table: HE THINKS THAT BEING A WUNDERSMITH IS MAKING HIM A BAD PERSON . He nodded at his brother and wiped it clear: YOU’RE WRONG, BY THE WAY. AS USUAL.
He got up from the table, and grabbed a bread roll from the middle. “Thanks, Homer,” he said, in the meanest tone of voice he could manage, and, not for the first time since Jupiter North had taken him on as his candidate, fled from the dinner table.
Instead of haunting the roof, he went outside, onto the street, dimly lit by lamps as evening turned to night, and he shivered a little, wishing he had had the foresight to bring a jacket. Not that any foresight had been involved in this decision, of course.
“Good to see you on your feet,” a vaguely familiar voice said, and he jumped.
“You,” he said. “You work for Ezra Squall.”
Mr Jones blinked, “How do you know that?”
“My- I’ve been told,” he didn’t want to rat out Morrigan as his source. That might involve too many questions about how she knew it, and they both knew how tenuous her argument against deportation was at the minute, ever since Baz Charlton had sent the Stink after her.
Everyone had more than a few choice words about that. Hawthorne and Morrigan both had learned at least five new swear words from Jupiter, before being made to promise not to repeat them ever.
He had crossed his fingers, obviously.
“You work for the Wundersmith,” he said cautiously, knowing he really should be turning tail, running and yelling, and screaming.
“I thought you might have picked up on something like that,” was it his imagination or was Mr Jones’ face changing? His eyes, the white bit - sclera, the little voice that sounded like Helena, said in his head - were darkening, his mouth changing to look like-
“You don’t work for the Wundersmith,” he breathed out, scared that if he said anything at a higher volume that he would drop dead on the spot. “You can’t.”
“No,” the man with black eyes, blackened mouth, and sharp teeth said. The monster of Hawthorne’s childhood. The thing that had haunted him out of the corner of his eye since he’d been told what he was.
He had been so scared that he was inevitably doomed to become like Squall, but as the smell of woodsmoke and ash made its way into his nostrils, and the darkness around him solidified into hunters on horseback, their dogs next to them, snarling, smoke-made-solid mouths open, ready to snap at him if he moved wrong, he knew that he could never be like this.
It was a fairly bad way to have this revelation, but it was a relief all the same as his feet were lifted up into a sea of smoke and shadow, and he was carried off, too quickly to scream, as he disappeared.
They dropped him on what looked like a Wunderground station which had been abandoned for a good few decades, his handkerchief, a present from Morrigan as in something he had borrowed and forgotten to return as of yet, dropping out of his pocket.
It was very golden, and very bright, and then it suddenly wasn’t anymore.
He was in a city, standing in the middle of the street, and a woman walked right through him.
He said a lot of words that his dad might be disappointed in him for saying in any other situation. He assumed being kidnapped by the evillest man who ever lived gave you carte blanche on swearing a little. Or a lot.
“Language,” Ezra Squall said, cleaning his nails out with a pocket knife. “I had assumed that all civilised children in the Free State had that sort of thing trained out of them. At least they did in my day,” he looked him up and down critically.
“Where am I?” he demanded as another person walked through him, and nodded their head at Squall. Squall nodded back, perfectly amiably. “Where have you taken me? Am I a ghost?”
“Calm down. You’re alive. Has your ridiculous patron not shown you the Gossamer Line yet?” He laughed in a way that was second cousin to amusement. “North has failed my expectations, but I suppose I should have been prepared for that. Child,” he said, as Hawthorne bristled at the insult so casually levelled at his patron. “The Gossamer Line is- you do know what the Gossamer is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. He backed to the side of the street, tired of people walking through him, and spotted a sign Butterfly House (Wintersea Party Chambers) 5 miles with an arrow down the road in that direction. “This is the Wintersea Republic?”
“If you’d let me get to the point,” Squall sounded genuinely tired. “Yes.”
“And what’s the Gossamer Line?”
“The Gossamer Line is a transportation across the Gossamer wherein your mind is separated from your body and taken anywhere you can think of.”
“ You separated my mind from my body?”
Squall looked disgusted, “Not permanently. You can’t touch anything over here, affect anything. No one can see you, unless you wish them to.”
“I don’t want them to! I can’t be seen here! I’m from the Free State!”
“Then they won’t,” his eyes were flashing now. “That is not why we are here. I don’t wish to ostracise you from your little society before you’ve even had the chance to join.”
“Why are we here?”
Instead of doing the decent thing and explaining himself, or the even more decent thing and letting him go home and leaving him alone forever, Squall turned on his heel and started walking down the street. Hawthorne, not knowing what else he could even do, guided by a force he couldn’t understand, jogged to catch him.
“He showed me Squall Industries,” he said. “He stripped it, like, to the bones, and built it back up like that,” he snapped his fingers. “It was really weird.”
Morrigan passed him a glass of juice and continued to deal out the cards. “That must have been scary. How did you even get back?”
He shrugged, “Dunno. I just thought about being back, I figured, if there’s a way back, I should think about being back in my body, yeah, so I just thought about the clothes I was wearing and the stuff in my pockets, and being back, and eventually the Gossamer Line got me back home.”
“And he didn’t… drag you back out again,” she said, stating the absolute obvious.
“Not so far,” he said. “He said that was my first lesson. I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying though.” He was regretting that now. What if Squall came back? He would, wouldn’t he? He’d been playing silly buggers with the Wunderground all year just to drag Hawthorne out to the Wintersea Republic for the worst field trip of his life. He wasn’t going to leave him alone just because Hawthorne figured out how to get away from him.
Morrigan smiled grimly at him, “Jupiter told me they’re shoring up their anti-Squall things on the border, that I was to tell you too, I mean.”
“It was,” he rubbed his eyes furiously. “I mean it was fucking scary.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I was scared too.”
“The hunt just… grabbed me,” he said. “Like I was nothing. And there wasn’t anything I could do. And the things Squall did…” he still heard the creak in the back of his mind as iron bars bent back, like the bones on a fish being pulled off, and the crack and crumble of the bricks breaking away from the cement. “It was really bad. I don’t want to be like that, Morrigan. I don’t want to be another him.”
She frowned, “You won’t be. He’s not like that because he’s a wundersmith, Hawthorne. He’s like that because he sucks.”
This was surprisingly cheering, “You’re right,” he sat up straighter. “Hey, if someone is mean about it when we’re both in the Society, can you set a dragon on them?”
Morrigan grinned with all her teeth, “Oh absolutely. And if I can’t get a dragon, there’s always Fen.”
The magnificat in question popped her head up from where she was napping next to the fire, “Who’s asking?”
They both laughed.