The Imperator signaled to Agrippa, his face white with shock. “Sir, explain this insane accusation.”
Oh, thank heavens. Agrippa would sort this out. I was almost dizzy with relief.
“Every word is true, Majesty, Imperator,” Agrippa said, without looking at me. “Her father was a Welsh solicitor named William Howel, a magician. He also possessed the ability to burn without harm to himself. He passed the talent to his daughter. She is a magician, nothing more.”
It sounded as if the shouts and cries and questions around me came from deep underwater. I should have raised my voice along with the rest, but I couldn’t breathe. When I called Agrippa’s name, he turned his back. That was the gesture that almost broke me.
Keep the pain down, I thought, forcing myself not to wail. Fight now, hurt later.
“How can a sorcerer train a magician?” the queen said.
“That is not possible.” The Imperator’s stunned look turned to anger. “Our approach to magic is entirely separate and impossible to reconcile. You should not have been able to train her,” he snapped at Agrippa.
“It was deceit, sir. She let me believe she benefited from my teaching, but she sought out a magician who could help her perfect her abilities in an effort to pass as one of our kind.”
Then I understood what was coming. The guards placed along the walls rushed me when I took a step out of the circle. I thought of fighting my way out, but if I got past the men, there were always Agrippa, Whitechurch, and Palehook to deal with. I was trapped.
“Who on earth trained her?” the queen said, her frustration apparent. As if on cue, a door at the far end of the room opened. Two guards entered, and between them, they half dragged a ragged, stumbling man.
“Howard Mickelmas,” Agrippa whispered. Men shouted in fear. The queen shrieked. The Imperator stood before Her Majesty, his stave in hand in case a battle broke out.
“You bring that thing into our sovereign’s presence?” he cried.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Majesty,” Mickelmas said. His right eye was swollen, and there was a long, ugly cut on his forehead. “I’ve come to confess.”
“Confess what?” the queen said.
He took a deep breath. “That Mary Willoughby and myself were responsible, solely responsible, for the arrival of the Seven Ancients. That I’ve hidden for many years when I should have accepted punishment for my crimes. And,” he added, looking at me, “that I have trained this young woman to be a servant of darkness. I’ve trained her to use her powers to fool you, gain commendation, and destroy the royal sorcerers from the inside, all in the service of the Seven Ancients, my true masters, long may they reign in chaos and in blood.”
“He’s lying!” I screamed, my voice ringing off the walls. The guards caught me. Stretching out my hands to him, I cried, “Master Agrippa, tell these gentlemen the truth.”
Agrippa turned away from me again.
“Your true master has confessed, girl,” Palehook said. “It’s cowardice not to admit your treason.”
This worm wanted to lecture me on cowardice?
“Bastard!” I pulled away from the guards and thrust Porridge forward in some vain attempt at a spell. Palehook had his stave, though. He struck me with warded force, and I collapsed. A guard ripped Porridge out of my hands.
“She attacked,” someone murmured. Two of the queen’s guards seized me and pulled me to my feet. Another guard stood before me, saber in hand.
“If you even think of putting yourself on fire,” he said, pointing the saber at my chest, “I will run you through.”
Agrippa came out of the crowd. His eyes glinted with tears.
“She is not a sorcerer. I’ve been training a magician all this time,” he said. Shamed, I sought out Mickelmas. He was only standing because the guards held him upright. They’d tortured him into saying this.
“Your Majesty, my lord Imperator, they’re all lying to you!” I cried. Everyone in the room regarded me with a cold, unfriendly eye. Five minutes before, they’d been delighted. The shame was unbearable.
“God help her,” Agrippa said.
“What I don’t understand,” the queen said, shaken, “is why you brought two magicians before me in such a way. How dare you risk my—our—safety.”
“Indeed,” the Imperator said, his voice icy.
“The fault is mine, Majesty, Imperator.” Palehook bowed to both of them. “We only discovered this yesterday. Miss Howel is a cunning creature and had kept herself from detection for so long. Poor Cornelius went along with my suggestion. He could think of nothing else on such short notice.”
The queen sighed. “In the future, Master Palehook, you will not raise our hopes before deliberately dashing them. Guards, take Miss Howel down and confine her. We shall decide what’s to be done.”
I was trapped in a windowless carriage. They’d chained me in manacles. Two guards sat across from me. One of them held Porridge. The other had a hand on the hilt of his saber, ready to kill me should I make this journey difficult.
“Where are we going?” I asked several times before I gave up.
The carriage took a sharp left and jolted to a halt. They hauled me out and dragged me across a stone courtyard. Soon I was led down several flights of steps, all the way to a long corridor of seven sectioned-off cells with iron bars. They set me inside one of the cells, swinging the door shut and locking it. This was a dank, windowless room, furnished with only a stool and a meager cot. I rattled my chained wrists, unable to believe any of it. I wouldn’t cry. I refused.
Footsteps and voices sounded down the staircase, and Agrippa stepped into view. The guard unlocked the door and allowed him to enter. He stood before me with a mournful expression.
Something almost amusing occurred to me. “Do you remember the last time you came to see me in a cell? You said I was a sorcerer. You were going to take me to London to see the queen. And look where we ended up. Funny, that.”
“Yes,” he said. His voice wavered.
“Why?” I didn’t cry or beg, I didn’t shout. None of that would help me now.
“To save you,” he whispered.
“Save me?” I’d felt numb for the entire carriage ride, but now I sensed the first stirrings of anger. “From royal commendation and a place in society, oh yes, you’ve saved me entirely. Now I’m imprisoned and might be—”
“You will be executed tomorrow. They break your stave at dawn.”
Of course this was how it all ended. More than anything else, I felt tired.
“Yes, I’m a magician. But Mickelmas and I had no plan to harm any of you. I didn’t even know he was Mickelmas—” I stopped. I couldn’t betray Blackwood’s secret. “Until recently.”
“I believe you,” he said.
“Then why did you do this?”
“Because I recognized the signs. I ignored them once, and it ended in disaster.”
“I don’t understand. Were you planning this from the beginning?”
“No. I thought you were a sorcerer until our lesson yesterday morning.” He shook his head. “You lost control of your emotions, and your power almost destroyed us. Only magicians manipulate their abilities in such a way.” Apparently Mickelmas had underestimated how much sorcerers knew of our kind. “After you attacked Julian, I went to speak with Palehook. He’d wanted to speak with me. He’d found Mickelmas and had forced him to talk of knowing you and your father.” Of course Palehook had “found” Mickelmas. He’d known where he was all along, no doubt. Had his own men recognized me leaving the magician’s home when they had gone to kidnap Rook?
“What signs did you recognize? When?” I leaned forward.
“Gwendolyn. If I’d heeded the signs, she might not be in such a terrible place now.”
“You speak as if she were alive.”
To my amazement, he said, “She is.”