“She is my familiar.”
Marguerite did not take her eyes from the vulture. And once more, Gideon learned not to underestimate her. “You keep her locked away down here, in the darkness, all alone in silence? How utterly cruel.” She furrowed her brow. “Will you treat me the same way in time?”
“I—” He stammered. He felt his neck go warm. He was being scolded like a child, and he did not know what to do with that. “I—well—” When Eurydice turned her attention back to him, seconding the young girl’s opinion of his negligence, the heat that rushed over him in a fresh wave of shame was nearly overwhelming. “I—I could not very well let her loose about the castle, terrorizing you, and—”
“Just me?” Marguerite glanced to him but could not take her eyes off the bird. “Not your servants?”
“They are—ah—well—” Damn, damn, damn, damn!
“They are all dead, too.”
Silence. When she fixed him with a glare, he muttered a sheepish “yes” and found he had to look away.
She sighed drearily. “I am in a castle of the dead. Fantastic.” She stepped up to the bars. “Will she hurt me?”
“No.”
In another action that shocked him, and one he likely should have stopped but found himself unable to do so, she yanked the iron bar from the door to the aviary, pulled the door open, and stood aside. “Go on.”
Eurydice hopped from her perch and half-flew, half-jumped to the ground at Marguerite’s feet. The bird ruffled her feathers, peered up at her, and let out a strange cooing noise. Marguerite smiled. “You’re rather hideous, but I suppose you cannot help it. Regardless, you seem to be sentient. You are a bird. You are meant to fly. You do not belong in this basement.”
Gideon could sense his familiar’s amusement with the young girl. Amusement and instantly earned friendship. While his familiar was a curt, cold, and unaffectionate creature, Marguerite had just earned her respect. The bird hopped from the room, unable to spread her large wings in such an enclosed space.
“Never, ever, keep her locked away again. Or any of your sentient creations.” She tossed aside the metal rod that kept the aviary door closed, the sound of the metal clattering on stone nearly deafening in the enclosed space. “Do you hear me?”
“Y—yes—I—” Shame welled in him once more. “I had no choice. I do not enjoy keeping her hidden, but—”
“Never again. And I do not know how one properly apologizes to a dead vulture, but you will do it.”
He swallowed and bowed his head. “Yes, my princess.”
It was only when he looked back up that he realized she was shaking. Positively trembling. For all the strength in her voice, it seemed she was not immune to the shock and horror of what she had just witnessed.
“Gideon? I—I think I believe you now, about the magic…” Her world had been upended once more. When her knees buckled, he rushed to her side to catch her. Her eyes were glassy and dim, and she blinked them rapidly as she struggled to come back to the waking world.
“It’s all right, Marguerite. I have you. You are safe.” He lifted her into his arms at the same moment her head rolled back.
You command me like you are my queen, and then promptly faint from terror.
What an odd creature you are.
And I did not think I could possibly love you more, yet here I am, proven wrong once again.
* * *
Marguerite came backto the world and found herself sitting in the chair at Johann’s—Gideon’s—desk. His dark robes were gathered around her, dwarfing her and swallowing her in their warmth. They smelled like him—like spices and petrichor. Despite all that had just happened, she found it comforting. He was kneeling at her feet, looking up at her in concern.
“I did not think myself one for fainting until you entered my life.” She groaned and rubbed her face. “It is becoming embarrassing.”
“I believe each time you have been justified in the act.” He chuckled and stroked her cheek. “Think nothing of it. Come, let us go back upstairs. You can drink a bottle of wine if you wish, and we will discuss what you have seen in front of a warm fire.”
It was tempting. It was very tempting. But she braced herself, swallowed through the thickness in her throat, and shook her head. “No. I can do this. But I will take you up on your offer once this is through.”
He smiled. “You may need something stronger than wine at that point, I fear.” He stood and crossed to a bookshelf at the other end of the room. Retrieving a bowl filled with white bits of chalk and a long wooden stick that seemed hollow in the middle—she could not identify from what plant or tree it had grown. It looked like a reed, but not like any she had ever seen. “What is that?”
“Bamboo. It grows in the east. And it is perfect for this.” Placing the bowl of chalk on a small table beside the painted circle, he plucked a piece of the white substance from it and tucked it into the end of the reed. It fit snugly and did not fall out when he turned it over.
“Huh. Clever.”