(Sorry to be so late and so short. Was dealing with crisis with extended family. Some of you know what. I am REALLY ready for the crisis to slow down. Thank you.)
This novel will get posted here a chapter every Friday or Saturday, or occasionally Sunday. If you contribute $6 you shall be subscribed for the earc and first clean version in electronic format. I think it will probably take another three months to finish. Less, if I can have a weekend to run through and get ahead of the game. It hasn’t happened yet.
NOTICE: For those unsure about copyright law and because there was a particularly weird case, just because I’m making the pre-first draft of my novel available to blog readers, it doesn’t mean that this isn’t copyrighted to me. Rogue Magic as all the contents of this blog is © Sarah A. Hoyt 2013. Do not copy, alter, distribute or resell without permission. Exceptions made for ATTRIBUTED quotes as critique or linking to this blog. Credit for the cover image is © Ateliersommerland | Dreamstime.com
Treason on Treason
Miss Ginevra Mythborne
They wouldn’t actually sacrifice me, I thought, even as I realized my expression gave that thought away. But that wasn’t the point so much, only the horrid, cold feeling that, while trying to entrap me the Earl had stumbled on a truth he hadn’t meant to find.
I saw the realization hit him too. His face went from triumphant smile to something else. It wasn’t so much that it changed, but rather that it didn’t change. Instead it froze slowly into immobility, like flesh becoming waxy-rigid, as though all life drained from it.
I saw the understanding and the horror, together, fill in behind his eyes, as it came to him that he wasn’t merely lying or making a trap for me.
When I was at the home, when I was very young, we used to be sent out from the home for magical orphans to do small services for the neighbors. Sometimes that was watching the very young or the very old. I had sat up with the dying and watched death creep over them and not change anything, except for taking away the spark of life and mobility.
That was what Jonathan looked like. And I realized, with a little shock that I hadn’t thought of my days at the home for very long, and I wondered what it all meant, and why I hadn’t thought of it. It was like a part of my early life had been locked away, and now I had unlocked it and remembered it, like a long lost childhood toy one has forgotten but which becomes familiar once found.
I started to say, “It can’t be true,” and then realized my own face had frozen in seeming immobility. I thought that they had tampered with my mind, with my memory.
I thought of everything they’d had me do. They’d told me that I was suppose to lead Jonathan to fairyland, but it wasn’t Jonathan alone, I understood. All the traps I’d set had also led his sister in, and the king of fairyland himself, and his half-brother, the witchfinder, and Jonathan’s supervisor of manufactories, the peasant boy with the huge magical power and the magical wife.
I didn’t know for sure, in my person that all those had been led in, but I could feel they had. I felt them, with me, in this trap – a closing trap, like a net that had caught us all.
And I saw the plan. It would be to drive us towards the center of fairyland and there—
“Jon,” I said, and then realized I’d never called him by that time nor been given permission to do it. And remembered the rules of etiquette of my youth. “Milord. We must leave here now. Right away.”
Which is when the world exploded.