The gorgon waits for us in the river.
"Shall I take you to the garden, Most High?" she asks.
"Gorgon, I release you from your bondage to the Order," I say. "You are free, as I suspect you have been since the magic was first loose."
The snakes dance upon her head. "Thank you," the gorgon replies."Shall I take you to the garden?"
"Did you hear? You are free."
"Yessss. Choice. It is a fine thing. And I choose to take you back, Most High."
We float downstream on the gorgon's back. Already, the air feels lighter. Things are changing. I cannot say how or what form they shall take eventually, but the change is the thing. It is what makes me feel that all things are possible.
The forest folk have gathered on the shore below the Caves of Sighs. They line the riverbank as we pass. Philon hops up on a rock, shouting at me. "We shall expect our payment, priestess. Do not forget."
I clasp my hands together and bow as I have seen Asha do. Philon returns the gesture. We are at peace, for now.
I cannot say how long the peace shall last.
"You tried to warn me about Miss Moore, didn't you?" I ask the gorgon once we are on the open river. Above us, white clouds spread out in grainy streaks, like sugar spilled across the floor of the sky.
"I knew her once by another name." "You must know a great deal," I say.
The gorgon's hiss comes out as a sigh."Someday, when there is time, I shall tell you stories of the days past."
"Do you miss them?" I ask.
"They are but days my people lived," she says. "I am looking forward to the days to come."
Father's room is dark as a tomb when I finally return home. He sleeps fitfully on sweat-drenched sheets. It is the first time I will use the magic since binding it. I pray I shall make better use of it. The first time I tried to heal him, but I've come to think it doesn't work that way. I cannot use the magic to control another. I cannot make him whole. I can only guide him.
I place my hand over his heart. "Find your courage, Father. Find your will to fight. It is there still. I promise you."
His breathing grows less labored. His brow smooths. I think I even see a hint of a smile. Perhaps it is only the light. Perhaps it is the power of the realms at work through me. Or perhaps it is some combination of spirit and desire, love and hope, some alchemy that we each possess and can put to use, if we first know where to look without flinching.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
IT IS MY FINAL DAY IN LONDON BEFORE RETURNING to Spence. Grandmama has agreed to send Father to a sanitarium for a rest. Tomorrow, she will leave for the country and a rest of her own. The house is a flurry of servants covering furniture with sheets. Trunks are packed. Wages are settled. London is emptying its fashionable houses until April and the season.
Tonight we are to dine one last time with Simon and his family. But first, I've two calls to make.
He is surprised to see me. When I sweep into his room through the little door behind the drape he once showed me and pull the hood from my face with bold fingers, he stands softly at attention, like a child awaiting either the strap or a kiss of forgiveness. What I've brought is not quite either. It is my own compromise.
"You remembered," he says.
"I remembered."
"Gemma--Miss Doyle, I--"
Three gloved fingers is all it takes to silence him.
"I shall be brief. There is work to be done. I could do with your help, if you are willing to offer it freely and without obligation to another. You cannot serve both our friendship and the Rakshana."
His smile catches me unawares. It flutters about the soft boughs of his lips, a broken bird unsure where to settle. And then the dark eyes fill with tears that he blinks away with a desperate concentration.
"It . . ." He clears his throat. "It seems a necessary point that I am no longer wanted by the Rakshana. Therefore, it may do your cause no favor, being championed by one so disgraced."
"It shall have to do, I suppose. We are rather a ragtag crew." His eyes clear. His voice strengthens. He nods to no one in particular.
"It seems you've changed your destiny after all," I say. "Unless it was my fate to do so," he responds, smiling.
"Well, then," I say, pulling my hood forward again. I am nearly to the door unscathed, but he cannot keep from saying one last thing.
"And allegiance to the Order ... is that the only fealty you require of me?"
Why does this one question have the power to push the breath from me?
