A Promise Due: Talented, #4

Danuta, thank you. I truly wouldn’t have gotten to this point without you.

Do you have the whole Talented series yet?

A BOGGART’S JOURNEY*

A DROP OF DREAM

A DASH OF FIEND

A SPLASH OF TRUTH

A PROMISE DUE

A FESTIVE DAY*

WHEN MAGIC FADES

*denotes short stories in this series

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Chapter One

Harrod looked at me in horror. You can’t be serious? Here? In under a month?

I nodded, fingers pressed against the smile that crept across my lips. As stressful as the situation was, Harrod’s reaction was just too priceless.

Do you want me to read it again? I asked. I held up the tiny scroll that had been delivered by dragonling that morning.

There shall be a Gala Grand,

Fit for one to make one’s stand.

Within the bounds of Umbers Hall,

On neutral ground beyond The Wall,

Beneath the peak of full moon’s light,

State your quest. Avert your plight.

Harrod snatched the scrap of paper from my hand before I finished reading it aloud. He knew it already, though—the short message was far less cryptic than the usual messages from the Fae, perhaps to ensure there would be no chance of confusion. At the next full moon, Harrod would host a Gala like none before it, where I—and I alone—would challenge the Horned God’s decree that he would strip the magic from our world.

"No. No, I’m sorry, it just can’t be done. It’s not possible." Harrod shook his head, resolute.

Behind him, Martin burst out laughing. "Gods, Harrod, I’ve never seen you so terrified in my life! Of course it can be done, it’s just a party. Emma’s the one who has to do the hard part. And besides, we’ll have help. Plenty of it I’ll bet, considering what’s at stake."

Harrod rounded on him. That’s exactly the problem! The whole damn city is in an uproar, the very economy of the Inner City is tumbling into ruins! Every Lord and Lady will want to attend and every damned one of them will want to stick their fingers into the planning. I won't even be able to find good produce, not of the sort they’d expect, and— Harrod stuttered to a stop as Martin clapped him on the shoulder.

Harrod, I can assure you, we won’t have to do this alone. The doorbell rang and Martin winked. See? The cavalry’s here already and we didn’t even have to ask.

I quirked an eyebrow at Martin, then followed Harrod down the hallway to see who was at the door. He opened it, threw up his hands in a fit of irritation, and turned around. "Of course. How did I not see this coming?"

Darlings! Bee clapped her hands together in glee. So glad to see you all here already. I do believe we have a gala to plan! She waltzed straight past Harrod without waiting to be invited in. I stepped over to close the door she’d left open and almost tripped on the faske trailing behind her.

Sorry! I called as it hurried off after Bee.

The faske spun and darted back over to me. For you, Lady. A furry hand held out a tiny, tattered children’s book.

Thank you, I said dubiously. I had to squint to make out the title. Fundamental Folksongs for Fae Formalities. Did Bee ask you to give me...

Too late. The faske had already waddled off and was busy taking notes for fabric lengths as Bee snapped numbers at him.

I simply don’t know why they chose this... this.... Bee threw her hands up in frustration as she glowered at a mustard-coloured wall. I wasn’t sure if she’d run out of words or didn’t want to offend Harrod. Somehow, I doubted it was the latter.

House? I suggested the most benign description of Harrod’s gothic manse I could find, but Bee just gave me a scowl.

I can’t escape it, can I? Harrod rubbed his face in dismay.

They’re Guardians, Harrod, of course you can’t. I took his arm and dragged him after me, following Bee to the dining hall. She spun around, firing off instructions to the faske who scribbled frantically on a small notepad. For crying out loud, it’s not like they’re asking you to give up an arm or a leg. Who knows, you might even have fun.

Green. Green and... bronze, I think. Yes, we shall go for a forest theme, perhaps masquerade—they do love a good masquerade, and the masks and costumes may help the guests feel a little less intimidated. And of course, how fitting, Graenn shall assist. Just her thing. Myn, do you have that? Send a piske to Graenn and instruct her to begin the ballroom decor. We’ll need trees in the corners... She eyed the windows. And those curtains, Harrod, what were you thinking? We’ll have to replace those. Permanently, I think.

Harrod huffed out a breath. "I was thinking that, you know, seeing as it’s my house and they’re my curtains—"

Nonsense, my dear, Bee said with a flourish. It will be your house again when the event is over, but you’d best give up such silly notions until then. You do realise what will happen if the event is unsuccessful? Her face dropped into seriousness for a moment, and Harrod sighed.

Yes, Bee, I do. Carry on.

Bee beamed at him, then turned back to the drapery.

I coughed politely. If you don’t need us, Bee?

No, you go and do whatever it is you humans do when the world is ending. I work best without distractions. She herded us out, Harrod grumbling as Martin snickered in the doorway.

As Martin made to join us, Bee grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. I froze, watching as she caressed his cheek and whispered something in his ear. A shadow passed over Martin’s face, the usual playfulness falling away like a discarded mask. He nodded and murmured in her ear. A bare second later, he turned a sunny grin in my direction.

Come on, best we’d not leave that curmudgeonly old grouch alone too long.

Martin draped an arm around my shoulders as he walked me down the hall to the parlour.

What did Bee say? I asked in a low voice.

As I’d expected, Martin just shook his head, one finger to his lips as he swung the parlour door open.

Fine. You and your bloody secrets. I smiled to let him know I wasn’t serious, and he gave me one last squeeze before stepping aside to let me flop down next to Harrod.

So, what now? I asked. We just let Bee run with it?

Not bloody likely. Harrod had procured a glass of scotch and sipped it before continuing. She’ll turn the place into a circus. Emma, are you sure about this?

I sighed. Yes, Harrod. The child Guardian has been visiting my dreams for days and every time, she tells me the same thing. I rubbed my face, wondering if this time she would believe I had understood, and finally let me alone to get a decent night’s sleep. "The challenge must be made in the appropriate manner or it will be ignored, and this, apparently, is the appropriate manner."

She probably chose here because of Emma’s connection to us, Martin said. That, and it’s the one estate that hasn’t held an event. Anywhere else would seem... overdone. He said the last word with a dramatic inflection and a flick of his wrist.

Harrod rolled his eyes. That does sound typical of them. Bloody Fae.

Not just Fae, Harrod. I took a breath to steady myself. Guardians. And Bee’s right. If we screw this up...

We lose our last chance to save magic. Harrod said the words I couldn’t.

Considering he was the only full Talent in the room, he was handling it remarkably well. My own half-blood magic was weaker than his and had its own unique restrictions, but the thought of losing it sent icy fear coursing through me. I had grown up outside of Talented society, had learnt to use technology, unlike the Lords and Ladies of the Inner City. For them, Harrod included, this really would be like losing a limb. Not fatal, but very, very hard.

So, let’s not screw it up then, hey? Martin’s voice was gentler as he watched Harrod down his drink with a grimace. Besides, it’s just a gala. How bad can it be?

WHEN I LEFT, IT WAS with an armful of notes. Instructions to call this baker and that pastry chef, to visit those musicians and track down that vocalist. My head reeled, but it was nothing compared to the dread that settled in my stomach. Harrod had been right.

The Guardians had made a decree that all the magic they had gifted to humans would be taken away, magic that sections of our society had relied upon for generations. Even the mortals were restless, knowing that many of the luxuries that came out of the Inner City would be gone, and the support services—even ones they had complained about and petitioned against—would be missed badly. Demand for my teas had skyrocketed, and I knew all the half-blood traders in the area were dealing with the same.

Rather than head home, I turned towards the Inner City on my next errand. I approached the gates and paused to fish the paperwork from my pocket.

It’s fine, Lady Beaumarchais. Pass on through.

At the guard’s bored words, I blushed and scurried off, still unused to my new status within the City. As I passed old manors and regal dwellings, the emptiness of the City deepened, the sounds of outer London muffled by the towering Wall. Two noblewomen strode quickly past me, heads bowed, and faces drawn. The younger woman stared at the ground with red-rimmed eyes. The older looked ahead with a grave stillness to her face that suggested she was as stricken as her tearful companion. My steps faltered a moment, but I pressed on.

I rounded the corner, stepping onto the main street with a breath of relief. The council chambers were just ahead, where the—oh. A cluster of nobles stood around the door, muttering angrily. Nerves wormed in my gut and I slowed, darting a look at the nearest side-streets in case I’d need a quick escape.

Then, I steeled my shoulders. That was just silly. The nobles knew I had standing with the High Seat and several ranking Lords. They wouldn’t dare to threaten me... I hoped.

Look, it’s that girl. A voice among them caused a few to look up and I swallowed, breath short.

One of them, a solid-looking man with a rumpled coat, strode forwards. You, girl. What are you doing here? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?

I’m here for a meeting with the High Seat. I kept my voice even and my eyes to the floor, hoping they wouldn’t call me on my bluff. Abnett himself might lie for me, but his attendants knew damned well he wasn’t expecting me.

Don’t bother her, Henry. She didn’t cause this mess, Amitus did, and he paid for it.

"She brought it to their attention."

I tried to ignore the jibes as I shouldered through the crowd towards Abnett’s office. Most of them made way, and I stepped widely around those who didn’t. The press of bodies was cloying, and a sense of fear hung in the air like a thick cloud.

A hand grabbed my sleeve. Can you stop it? The woman looked up at me, eyes pleading. They said you know them, that they will listen to you. Can you change their minds?

Her words seized my forward momentum, jarring me to a halt. In shock, I stared into her shadowed eyes.

I... My voice faltered on a promise, one I knew I couldn’t give. I watched the woman, felt the hush that fell around us, stood there as the weight of all their eyes bored into me. Desperation strengthened the woman’s grip, though I could feel the tremble in her hand.

I’ll try. I kept my voice low, but it didn’t matter. Rustles, whispers of hope sprang up and washed over the tight pack of spectators.

What do you know? The man who had accosted me out the front shoved forward. You’re involved, I knew it! Why would you lead them to do this, how could you let them take our magic?

His words prickled me, and I straightened to look him in the eyes. "Let them? Come now, you’ve spent years telling us half-bloods how worthless we are, how much we embarrass the high and mighty Talented with our weakness. You think a simple half-blood, a mere girl, could stop the Guardians from doing anything?"

He sneered and turned away. I thought as much.

I mean, you wouldn’t be wrong. Silence fell. A corner of my mouth turned up as my irritation simmered. There’s a chance I can stop this happening—I just wondered why you’d have such a high opinion of someone like me.

At the challenge, he flushed red and blustered. A thick finger adorned with an oversized gem pointed at me as he opened his mouth to speak.

The Guardians, I said in a clear voice, cutting him off. "Have allowed us a chance. A small one, one I’m yet to discuss with the High Seat. For now, though, perhaps you’d be better off considering why they’re so furious. I didn’t lead them to this, my Lord, but I really don’t blame them for their anger."

The man deflated, shutting his mouth with a dark scowl. He turned back and disappeared into the throng. The others fell quiet as I passed them. They stepped aside, leaving me clear passage to the High Seat’s office. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I did my best to calmly walk the short distance to the door. I slipped through, shut it behind me, and sagged against the wall.

Ah, Lady Emmeline. Please, one moment. I recognised the piske as Dem, one of Abnett’s secretarial assistants. He gave me a short bow, fluttered across the room to rap briskly on the door and then darted through. There was a short hum of voices, and he re-emerged. The High Seat will receive you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable.

I declined his offer of a seat, instead pacing the room while I silently repeated the details I had learned over the previous nights. Though the child Guardian had first visited me four nights earlier, I hadn’t yet told Abnett. I had wanted written confirmation of what she had told me and now that I had it, I could be sure I wasn’t offering false hope.

Lady Beaumarchais? Dem startled me and I looked up to see him hanging in the air, mere feet from my face. The High Seat will see you now. 

I started forwards, then halted as he cleared his throat. Ah, Lady? If you don’t mind me saying... I do wish you luck. It would be a pity for my kind to leave here.

With a grim smile and a nod, I thanked him. Once in the safe confines of the office of the High Seat, I sank into a chair and finally allowed myself to breathe. Abnett allowed me a moment while he rustled through papers, watching me over the pages.

That rabble still outside? he asked.

Yes. Why are they here? I accepted the shot of amber liquid he handed me. A tentative sip revealed it to be not liquor, but a Fae potion. Another mouthful of the honeyed drink slid down easily and when I turned to Abnett, it was with a clearer head and more poise than I’d possessed when I entered the room.

They want information. He grunted. Well, they really want platitudes. They hope I can tell them everything will be okay, that the threat of the Guardians will be defeated, so they can go back to living in their privileged little bubbles. He lifted a second bottle, this one of whiskey, and poured himself a glass. He gestured to me with the bottle, but I shook my head. Can I tell them that, Emmeline?

I... I’m not sure. The child Guardian has sent instructions for my challenge to the Horned God. Seeing his hope flare, I quickly added, There’s no guarantee we can pull this off, though, it might be just a—

My dear, when it concerns you, anything is possible. Now, tell me what you need me to do. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together as he waited for me to explain.

He had an easy manner, even in these circumstances, but his confidence in me made the weight of what I had to do press down harder. Trying not to let my voice shake, I told him what I knew.

The proclamation the Horned God made was more like a challenge, according to their laws. He spoke without the agreement of the other Guardians. They won’t speak against him, but if we respond, demand parley, he is bound by their laws to give us that chance. Abnett’s expression hadn’t changed, so I continued. We need to present our reply in the correct manner. Of course, they’re Fae, so that manner comes with a whole lot of wine and some pretty dresses.

What is it you need? Abnett spoke as though he were asking which flour I wanted to bake my bread with.

They expect a gala. Not just that... a Grand Gala, one to rival all others. They want dancing, wine, ballgowns. A spectacle.

Abnett nodded. Perhaps it could be held in one of the Council estates. Or my own if you think that would suit?

I winced. They’ve chosen the location already.

They have? Well then, that’s one less thing to worry about. He hesitated. Though, by the look on your face, perhaps it’s one more... Where is their location of choice?

Harrod’s.

Abnett choked on his whiskey but righted himself quickly. The Umbers estate? It hasn’t been used for some time, but—

No, no. His house. I waited a moment, but it didn’t seem to be sinking in. "The one he lives in."

Abnett spluttered as a drop of whiskey caught in his throat. The... one with the gargoyles out the front?

I nodded slowly, letting him take it in. "That’d be