Every one of her joints ached. A raw deal it was getting old, Marigold thought to herself. She went to sit up in bed and only then discovered she had been lying half in, half out of her bed, with one leg dangling painfully over the edge. Moving woke burning throughout her muscles. With a pained grunt, Marigold sat up and looked down at herself. She still had on the eggshell blue dress she’d worn to dinner with the queen. Her same shoes were still on her feet. How long was the dinner to last that Iris had not yet made her way here? But that couldn’t be right, Marigold decided. The spell she had cast should have seen her Slumbering for a full day at the least. How could she have woken this quickly? What had happened?
She craned her neck to look at the vase on her little writing desk. The geraniums that had been there before were gone, replaced with pink rhododendron blooms. That meant that at least a full day had passed, if not more, for a maid had entered the room and changed out the flowers. So, why had Iris not come to attend her in her Slumber? Had something happened to her apprentice?
Marigold stood up with a mind to find out, but the moment she was on her feet, she knew she must see to herself first. Using her fingers to disentangle her silver hair from the simple plait she’d had it in, she stepped into the hallway outside her chambers. It appeared to be morning; she could smell the remnants of breakfast and hear the clatter of servants clearing the table in the main hall. The first person she ran into was a maid carrying a bundle of clean laundry.
When the maid saw Marigold, she halted and said, “Good morning, Mage-Matron,” yet she kept her eyes averted to the floor.
“Ingrid,” Marigold greeted her. “Good morning. Do you know where Lady Iris is? Is she alright?”
“I ... am not certain where she is right now, Mage-Matron, but she appeared fine at breakfast.”
Marigold attempted to order her thoughts. She was still shaking off the gossamer threads of Slumber. As her mind cleared, she noticed all of her body’s wants: food, water, a warm bath, for a start. “She didn’t attend me in my Slumber,” she said. “Nor did anyone else. Yet, clearly, people have gone in and out of my chambers.”
The look of self-reproach on the girl’s face was easy to see, and her cheeks reddened. “Lady Iris commanded that no one was to touch you while you Slumbered, Mage-Matron.” She continued to look down at the floor, fingers bunching the laundered sheets she carried.
An undesirable picture began to form for Marigold, that this was Iris’s intent. She could find no other explanation for why she had been left without care. Why would her apprentice do such a thing? But Marigold knew why, and that knowing filled her with bile. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it. It would not be right to unleash her anger on the servants of the household; they had done only as they were commanded.
Marigold’s jaw tightened as she bit down what she had been about to say. With an effort, she softened her words and said instead, “Ingrid, please have a hot bath drawn for me. And if there’s any breakfast left, have a plate sent here. And coffee. And hot water for tea.”
“Yes, Mage Marigold. Right away.” She was clearly relieved to take her leave and be about her tasks.
Returning to her chambers, Marigold tried to calm herself. She hardly noticed the servants who arrived to prepare her bath and set out food and drink for her. Instead, she spent the time looking out her window at the overcast day. When the bath was ready, she sent the last of the servants away. She bathed and then dressed in one of her simple robes. As she ate breakfast, she steeped a tea of restorative herbs. She returned to staring out the window as she sipped it. Physically, she felt refreshed now. Her thoughts, though, were a maelstrom. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and ... there. A small flash of Barrier-Casting. Precise. Pinpointed. Powerful. Marigold knew where Iris was.
She left the interior of the manor and went out to the walkway atop Black Crux’s inner wall. There she found Iris. She was surprised to see that she was with the crown prince and his tutor. The boy stood back from the edge of the wall watching Iris.
“Go ahead, my prince, point out another one.” She spoke without turning, her eyes on the clouded sky, black hair whipping out behind her in the wind, tendril-like.
The crown prince turned his dark eyes up to his tutor. The woman gave him a tight-lipped smile, but said nothing. The boy spoke softly, as if reluctant, raising his hand and pointing to a flock of geese passing low over Black Crux town.
“Th ... that one. At the front.”
Iris lifted her arm, fingers tracking the goose at the head of the great V. With a quick slicing motion, she drew a Barrier in the middle of the air overhead, directly in front of the goose. The hapless bird smacked into the Barrier and plummeted, its brethren honking in alarm and desperately flapping around it.
Marigold stared in disbelief. It was a masterfully cast spell—the control, the distance ... all for such senseless cruelty. “Enough!” she sputtered when she had control of herself. “What in all the hells do you think you’re doin’, girl?”
Calmly and nonchalantly, Iris turned and hopped down from the edge of the wall. The look on her face was one of mild confusion as to the reason for Marigold’s anger.
“Do you speak to me, Mage-Matron?”
To the young prince and his tutor, Iris’s confusion must have appeared genuine. The acting was as precise as her spell casting. To Marigold, however, the mockery in her apprentice’s voice was clear. If there had been any doubt left in Marigold’s mind about whether Iris had intentionally left her unattended in her Slumber, it was gone now. Her hands trembled with her fury. But that topic could wait. The scene before her needed to be addressed first.
“Who else would I be speaking to? You are casting magic while your teacher Slumbers, which you well know you should not be doing. But worse than that, this is how you choose to use your magic, by killing birds in the sky for sport? Things like this, young lady, are why you have not been raised to Journeyer. This is shameful and repugnant behavior!”
There was only the slightest shift in the set of Iris’s expression, a twitch of her brow, a narrowing of her eyes. Did she she subtly smile? “Be cautious how you speak to me,” she said. “I am the Lady of Black Crux Manor and head of Hold Draffor. You are merely a teacher. I don’t have to explain my actions to you. But I will remind you, you are speaking to me thus in front of Prince Caiside.”
The explosion of outrage that Marigold felt bubbling to the surface was only quashed at the mention of the prince’s name. She had been so entirely focused on the appalling way her student was behaving that she had nearly forgotten the boy was there. Mastering herself, she turned her attention to him. There was uncertainty in the young boy’s eyes, and in the eyes of his tutor. Both could see clearly that they had found themselves in the middle of a dispute they didn’t fully understand. Marigold wondered by what manner of pretense the prince had been invited here to watch such a disgraceful display of magic without his mother the queen with him. Had it been Iris’s idea? Or had the prince himself requested to see more magic? Marigold chewed the inside of her cheek, caught in a brief conflict of her own. She did not want her future king thinking that what he had seen this day was any legitimate representation of Barrier-Casting. But how much authority did she have to tell the prince of her kingdom, young as he was, that he should take himself away to other activities now. Had it been any other little boy, she would simply have shooed him away. She settled on addressing his tutor, speaking only her opinion.
“I do not believe this is appropriate entertainment for a young boy, prince or otherwise. Do you?”
Mercifully, the tutor appeared to have been looking for just such excuse and took the cue smoothly. She patted the young prince on the shoulder, smiling down at him and saying, “Come, Your Highness, I think it is time we go and find your mother. We shall be departing from Black Crux soon and she will want to know that you are packed and prepared. Thank the mages for their demonstrations.”
To his credit, the prince recovered himself quickly. The boy sketched a perfect bow to each of them. “Mage Iris. Mage-Matron Marigold. I thank you for your demonstrations of Barrier-Casting, and for your hospitality,” he said in his small voice.
“It was my honor, Your Highness. Safe travels,” Marigold replied, as the boy’s tutor conducted him away.
Iris said nothing as they departed. Then, to Marigold’s surprise, she said accusingly, “You did not imbue that staircase Barrier with any Intent at all. It was a simple Permission, allowing for everyone in the room to pass through it. Everyone except for you and the prince. The contest was staged. Not an easy Casting, but one I could have performed, too, given the chance.”
Marigold gawked at her. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “You left me unattended in Slumber for two days, without even water! For two days, you left me lying half out of my bed in the same fouled clothes and in danger of dying of thirst. That alone is beyond unacceptable, apprentice. But what was even more petty and wretched was ordering the servants to deny me aid as well. What were you thinking? I should cast you out from my tutelage this very instant!”
The change in Iris’s demeanor was instantaneous. No more was she the haughty noble exerting her position in front of the prince, but like a child spurned. The pitch of her voice rose to carry her words across the windswept walls. “And you made a mockery of me in front of the queen! You and my husband both! I asked you that very day to show me the trick of Intent and then you went and invoked the word whilst performing your little parlor trick for the prince. You did it to throw it in my face in front of everyone. You and my husband conspired to make me appear foolish and inept, so you could show off and be the center of attention. I merely gave you a taste of what it’s like to be so disregarded.” She waved her hand and added, as if suddenly regretful, “It was only for a day or two. Not nearly the same as what I have endured time and again.”
For a brief moment, Marigold seethed. But she could not deny some of what Iris said. She closed her eyes and pushed the heels of her hands against them. When she opened them again, dark spots flecked her vision against the overcast sky. She controlled her breathing.
“I hadn’t considered that pretending I was using Intent in my spell would open a wound for you. For that, I’m sorry. It still does not excuse what you did, and it does not mean I or your husband intended to snub you.”
Iris made a short scoffing sound. The young woman crossed her arms over her bosom and stared out across the town below.
“Am I understood, Iris?”
She stood there refusing to meet Marigold’s eye. After a time, she said, “Yes.” Then, more quietly, she added, “Perhaps you did not do it on purpose, but Marcus did. I know he did. For the last two days he has prevented me from having any audience with the queen whatsoever, while he drinks and ingratiates himself with her and her retinue. And now she is leaving. Not one chance did I have to speak with her or show her what I am capable of. I thought I could show the prince, at least.”
“And an ugly demonstration you concocted, girl.” Marigold sighed. “I’m exhausted. We will speak more on this later. Until then, consider your lessons suspended, and,” she added, raising a finger. “You will perform no more Barrier-Casting until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
The wind whipped Iris’s hair and dress about as she continued to stare off beyond the manor’s walls. A strange smile appeared on her lips.
“We will discuss this later, Mage-Matron, for now I go to Slumber until dinner, when I shall at least get to speak with one of the queen’s advisors who is remaining behind for an additional day. Don’t worry about attending to me. I have been training my maids to handle it in your stead.”
After Iris had left, Marigold made her way back to her chambers. She felt old. Powerless. Servants and manor folk and guests ghosted by her in the hallways, seeing in her face that she did not wish to speak with any of them. She wanted only to use the remaining day to recover, perhaps spend some time writing, or simply sitting in her chair.
The day passed thus, with Marigold hardly marking the time. The light through the window in her sitting room hardly changed hour to hour. The day remained overcast and drab. She was surprised when there was a tap at her door and the servant she had spoken to in the morning, Ingrid, entered to ask if she wanted dinner sent up.
“Dinner?” asked Marigold, closing the book of poetry she had been reading. “You mean lunch?”
For a wonder, the girl smiled. She looked harried. Unsurprising, given all the frantic activity of the household in service to hosting the queen and young prince. Marigold surmised that all the manor’s staff would be pleased to see things return to a normal routine again with their departure. She knew she would be.
“Lunch time came and went, Mage-Matron. It is early yet for dinner, but the cooks are preparing a special banquet tonight for Lord Marcus and a guest. The cooks wish to be certain that anyone not dining with them is fed before they must turn all their attention to that.”
“I heard of that,” Marigold said. That would be the queen’s advisor Iris had mentioned. Truly, people like that probably wielded more power behind the scenes than any monarch. Lord Marcus would surely go all out in impressing that one before he departed to catch up with the queen’s travel retinue. Marigold was glad she’d received no invitation to that. It would probably be a long evening of trade negotiations and political maneuverings, all in the guise of painfully dry dinner discourse. Just the kind of thing Lord Marcus loved.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
She yawned. She was tempted to skip dinner entirely and go to bed early, but in the same thought she realized she was famished. “I will take dinner here,” she decided. “Something simple and hearty. Whatever the cooks have that’s easy. And then, you should take the rest of the evening off, girl. You look a sight.”
“Kind of you, Mage-Matron.” said Ingrid, folding her hands over her apron. “I’ve already been given leave to do just that, through tomorrow as well.” Her smile widened. “I’m going to go visit my sister just up the road. I’ve a new nephew!”
Marigold leveled a smile on her. “How about that! Give my congratulations to your sister, and my wishes for good health for both she and the babe.”
“I will. Thank you. If there’s nothing else you need, Mage-Matron, I will go and let the cooks know to send up your dinner.” The woman turned and was halfway out the door before she paused and asked, “Do you know where I might find Lady Iris, to have dinner sent for her, as well? She wasn’t in our lord and lady’s chambers, nor anywhere else I searched.”
Marigold had picked up her book again and begun thumbing through the pages to the spot she’d left off at. “Wouldn’t bother, if I were you. She told me she was attending the dinner with Lord Marcus.”
The look the servant gave Marigold made her heart drop. She knew what was coming before the woman even spoke it.
“But ... Lord Marcus has forbidden his lady wife to dine with himself and any of the queen’s retinue these last couple days.” At the look on Marigold’s face, she hesitated.
“Tell me,” Marigold implored.
Ingrid took a breath. “They ... The night you went into your sleep, after the crown prince had won your contest, Lady Iris was, pardon my saying ma’am, but she was furious over something. After the dinner, when the queen and everyone else had retired, she went through the halls smashing anything she could get her hands on, tearing down wall hangings and the like, before locking herself in her chambers. When later Lord Marcus went there and found himself barred from his own bedroom, he ... well, he’d drunk quite a lot that evening and was not pleased, to say the least. They argued through the door, until he went and found a key, and then it only became worse after that. A number of us heard it, ma’am. It was quite heated. They have spoken hardly a word to each other since.”
The woman stood there, plainly uncomfortable at having had to deliver such news, yet somehow looking relieved to no longer be carrying the burden of withholding it from Marigold. Had Iris also forbidden the serving people of the manor from revealing this fight? Marigold set her book back down.
“On second thought, don’t bother with dinner for me, Ingrid. Nor for Lady Iris. That will be all. Enjoy your time off with your sister and new nephew.”
Ingrid waited a moment, as if Marigold would say more, then she gave a short curtsy and took herself from the room. Marigold forced herself to remain seated until she had gone, then she was up out of her chair. Mumbling curses to herself, she shed the simple robe she’d worn all day and hastily dressed in clothes appropriate for another fancy dinner with the nobility. It was not difficult to deduce that Iris would already be in the dining hall waiting for her chance to sidestep her husband’s stupid forbiddance and say who knows what to this advisor to the queen. Could she do anything about it, Marigold wondered as she pushed her tired feet into her good shoes. She doubted it. Yet, something in her gut told her it would be best to be present anyhow. When her apprentice was in one of these moods, the calming hand typically came from Marigold, not from Iris’s husband.
She arrived to the main dining hall to find it empty, then cursed herself again for a fool and hurried to a more private and intimate dining room that Lord Marcus preferred to use when hosting far fewer people. When she entered the room, Lord Marcus and Lady Iris were already there, seated at the small table. Serving people bustled around them refreshing drinks, setting out new courses of delicacies, and taking away finished ones. Marigold had arrived in the middle of a meal already in progress, and she sensed immediately that she stepped into a tense atmosphere. Neither Marcus nor Iris so much as looked up at her entrance, so intent were they on one another. Some of the serving people paused to acknowledge her and one hurried to set another place at the table. Marigold had expected there to be at least a few other guests present at table, but there was only one person sitting with the lord and lady of the manner. This man was the one who rose and bowed to Marigold. Before she could even find words with which to impose herself into the charged gathering, he spoke in her stead.
“Mage-Matron Marigold,” he enunciated in carefully crafted words, through the woolliness of drink. “Please, sit with us. I was hoping I would have a chance to meet you in more intimate circumstances before I departed. Take this seat beside me and help elucidate me on this concept Lady Iris has proposed of using Barrier-Casting to expand the borders of Hold Draffor.”
Before Marigold could answer, Lord Marcus interjected with words dripping with dwindling patience, yet sugared with feigned casualness. “You’ll find that Mage Marigold is of the same opinion I am, that her magic is not to be used for such things. And, besides that, we keep an unquestionable peace here in Draffor, my lady wife.” He spoke this last while patting Iris’s hand fondly, even as his eyes tried to bore holes through her.
Marigold could not have felt more out of place. She had obviously arrived too late to curtail another fight between the couple. It was clear that Lord Marcus had not meant for his wife to have interjected herself into this attempted one-on-one meeting with an important advisor from the capital. She could tell, too, that tense words and alcohol both had been flowing for some time already prior to her arriving. Lord Marcus himself was already red in the face from drink, a state increasingly common for him when he was displeased with his wife.
“Pardon me, Widald. Where are my manners?” Lord Marcus added, gesturing with his wine glass just as Iris had appeared about to speak. “Mage Marigold, please, I would like you to meet Lord Widald of Boar’s Helm, advisor to, and close personal friend of, our king and queen.”
Inwardly, Marigold walked on a tightrope. To this high advisor, however, she showed a cocky grin and nodded her head. “A pleasure, Widald. Friend to the king and queen? You sound important! I’m not interrupting anything by joining you all for dinner, am I?” she asked through a grin, as she took the seat pulled out for her by Lord Widald.
“You know you are always welcome at my table, Mage Marigold,” Marcus said smoothly, though he bit his words off shortly.
She hated all of this, the politicking for one, but lately having to play peacemaker in her lord and lady’s marriage. As much as she wished to be anywhere else but here, upon looking across the table at Iris, she knew she must be. More than refusing to return her smile, Iris already looked primed to explode. Her jaw was tight, her eyes a dark storm brewing. Clearly, she had already been trying to press her ideas upon this noble from the capital, and Lord Marcus would have been pretending it was all light conversation, while simultaneously dismissing every word his wife uttered. This was not good. Despite Marigold’s disinterest in the aristocracy, it was not difficult for her to guess how disastrous for Black Crux it would be should the lord and lady of the manor air their dirty laundry in front of a friend of the royals.
Swiftly, she cloaked her bitterness at having to wade into this with humor. “Magic and borders?” She waved a servant away and took up the nearest bottle of wine at hand, pouring herself a generous glass. As she did, another servant brought out a large pot and from it served out a simmering duck cassoulet, with sides of cabbage, potatoes, and toasted bread. The succulent aroma made Marigold dizzy with hunger. “Why speak of that when it appears you are already engaged in a drinking contest?” she asked, taking up her spoon and gesturing with it at the number of empty bottles before both lords. “That’s far more interestin’ to me, and I wager I could beat you both.” She tasted the cassoulet and closed her eyes in bliss. The cooks had really outdone themselves. She tried to counsel herself to temperance; she was not here for pleasure tonight.
Beside her, Lord Widald laughed. “You do truly have the humor Marcus claimed you did. That was a fair coup you played with Prince Caiside the other evening—he was talking excitedly about it all the next day.”
“I’m pleased to know that, my lord,” Marigold returned. She swirled her wine in her glass and took a sip. “You’re from Boar’s Head?” she asked, turning the topic away from magic. “Never heard of it. Where is that?”
“Ah. Boar’s Helm, Mage-Matron. It is a region just northeast of the capital city itself. My family owns farms all about the area.”
“Farms never in danger of being raided and sacked.” Iris’s comment was spoken softly, yet seemed to carry around the table. Even a couple of the servants could not hide their reactions entirely.
“Gilliana ...” Marcus warned. He had been quietly observing as he ate. Now, he set down his spoon and took up his wine glass.
Iris ignored her husband. “Lord Widald, every year raiders come and shake down Draffor’s farmers. They sack small villages and steal what they please. And what do we do? We pay them! We bribe them with coin and produce from our own coffers to convince them to stop. Why?” She turned her attention to her husband now, speaking on despite how Lord Marcus glared at her with anger rising in his expression. “And the crown sends no forces to stop them. But we wouldn’t need that, if only we crushed the problem ourselves. We have the funds, we could raise armies, and with my magic growing in power—”
“Admittedly ...” Marigold stepped in, addressing her words to Lord Widald. She had to quickly swallow the wine she’d been sipping, and dab her chin with her napkin in her haste to get a word in to put a halt to this. “There are those who believe Barrier-Casting could be applied to warfare. Personally, I disagree. As did my teacher, Mantis, and her teacher, Beetle. It’s not at all practical, nor is it—”
“If you would but teach me Intent, Mage-Matron, I could adapt Barrier-Casting to any use I wished.” Something in Iris’s words chilled Marigold. She looked at her teacher with distant eyes. She had not touched her food, nor had she taken even a sip of her wine.
As Marigold grasped for a response, Lord Widald spoke in a reserved tone, “His Majesty is aware of the raids on this region.”
“Then why does he not do something about it?” Iris pressed. “You must tell him to send us soldiers.”
“Gilliana!” Marcus said forcefully.
“Iris,” she hissed.
“We have been over this, wife.” Lord Marcus raised his voice. In his hand, his wineglass shook. Marigold could see the blood coming to the aging man’s cheeks. His words were slurred but unfaltering as he launched into a lecture she’d heard him give his young wife many times before. “Raising armies for war is not moving game pieces around a board! It means people dying. People from our towns and farms. You do not comprehend what a boon it is to have generations of peace for only the small price of a little coin given into the hands of raiders.”
“He can think for himself!” Iris spat, gesturing sharply across the table at Widald. “Let him only bring my plans to the king and queen and they can decide. It’s not only peace I speak of, but expansion! We could take the lands of those raiders and make them into more than rough territories overrun with nomads. We can safeguard our hold’s people without prostrating ourselves before our attackers. With the raiders wiped out, peace would be free and lasting. But you are a coward without ambition. Our hold could be as powerful as King’s Hold if you so desired, not some backwater as it is now. How can you not see this? If you will not do what’s necessary, then I certainly shall when you are gone!” This last she added almost as an afterthought, but it rang like a promise ... or threat.
At this, Lord Marcus roared and slammed his wine glass down on the table. The base of it broke off from the stem, causing wine to splash over the tablecloth. Rising from his seat, he flung the remaining glass past Iris. It shattered against the wall behind her. She gasped and flinched, eyes wide as she stared at her husband with a mix of surprise and hatred.
“Enough of your insolence!” Marcus shouted, pointing to the door. “Get out of my sight! Take yourself to that Slumber chamber or yours. I will not share my bed with such a recalcitrant excuse for a wife!”
Iris stood as well, shouting back, “You cannot send me to my room like some disobedient child!”
“I can,” Marcus replied. He leaned forward with one hand braced on the table, the other clutched to his chest. He swayed, gulped a breath, and pointed again to the door. “I can,” he repeated more quietly. “And count yourself fortunate I do not cast you out of my home altogether.”
Marigold looked on in horror, while beside her Lord Widald labored to betray no emotion whatsoever. Around the room, servants waited and dared not breathe. Marigold expected Iris’s reaction to be substantially worse than her husband’s. So, she was surprised when Iris simply turned and strode from the room without a word, her skirts sweeping behind her.
Displaying a composure that hardly matched the situation, Lord Marcus lowered himself back into his seat and lifted his chin at the nearest servant.
“Bring the dessert course now. And serve the port.” As the servants beat a hasty retreat to do so, Marcus folded his hands before him and looked first to Lord Widald. “My apologies, Widald. I hope you do not take that as anything more than a temperamental woman attempting to assert ideas well above her upbringing. Will you have dessert?”
Marigold noted that Widald gave just enough consideration to the idea so as not to appear impolite before stating, “Regretfully, no, my friend. I leave early in the morning and I have much packing to do. It has been a pleasure. Rest assured, Her Majesty was quite pleased with how Hold Draffor is prospering under your care.”
The words may have placated a less savvy man, but Lord Marcus’s face betrayed that he knew these were empty platitudes. The queen would be hearing of the strife shown this evening. Lord Widald stood, adding, “Mage-Matron, thank you for the graciousness you showed the young prince.” When it appeared he might say more, instead he showed her a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and took himself from the room. It was a truly aristocratic dismissal, if Marigold had ever seen one.
She found herself alone with her employer.
“Mage-Matron? Dessert?” he offered.
Marigold slowly rose from her chair. Her body seemed to creak like old door hinges these days. That would only ever get worse, she thought to herself. She said, “I should go and speak to her.”
“Yes,” agreed Marcus.
With that, he clearly dismissed her from his thoughts and lifted the new glass of port set before him.
As Marigold roamed the night-quiet halls of Black Crux Manor, suddenly she was more weary of her position than she had ever been. For years, Black Crux and its lord had been good to her. It was here that she had expected to train someone into a master mage of exquisite skill, the kind of student any mage would be proud to teach. But as she steeled herself to plunge deeper into the machinations and melodrama of nobility, power, and magic, she felt as if the manor’s heavy stone walls were closing in around her. When had magic, her life’s passion, become a chore to her? Never before this year had she found herself reluctant to teach it. Yet, here she was still having to lecture her student on all the ways she shouldn’t be thinking of, or performing, magic, things that an apprentice should have learned by now.
Actualizing her new disinterest made Marigold feel despondent, and almost she decided to simply retire to her own chambers, but she found herself before the door to Iris’s sanctuary, the chamber she used for Slumber. Marigold tapped on the door and received no response. Trying the handle told her that Iris had locked herself in. Speaking through the door elicited nothing. It was late and she was weary in a way that went beyond the physical. Telling herself that Iris must already be asleep, Marigold left it for morning.
Back in her own chambers, she left her shoes and dress in a heap on the floor, stoked up the fire in the hearth, and lay down in bed. As exhausted as she was, it made no sense to her that sleep did not come instantly. When finally she did manage to fall asleep, her sleep was fitful and marred by odd dreams. She woke and slept, and woke and slept. At one point very late, she dragged herself from under her warm blankets to build up the fire and use the privy.
As she returned to her bed, having just burrowed herself back under her blankets, she sensed it: a tiny snap of magic elsewhere in the castle, so focused that even she was unsure if what she had sensed was accurate. She waited, wondering if there would be something more, something to confirm what she had felt. Of course, there would be nothing to deny it if she had been mistaken. Strange. She waited. And waited. More odd dreams, perhaps, she thought. She was much too exhausted for this. She yawned, turned over, and put it from her thoughts. Finally, she slept deeply.