He stood, and scowled into the shadows.
After a time, she said, “Simon, we need to talk. About these rumors.”
“What rumors?” he said.
“That I’m only pretending to heal Sebastian.” She was indignant. “Or even that I put a curse on him. It’s absurd.”
Simon glared. “This is why you wanted to see me?”
“It’s one reason,” she said. “Simon, this is important. Things are getting out of hand. Your family’s trying to incite a—”
“My family?” he said. “Your brother—”
“Malcolm,” she said cooly, “is a boor. A childish one. Ignore him. The only person he’s a danger to is himself. It’s your side that’s the threat. That’s another reason I can’t just run away with you, even if I wanted to.”
Simon chuckled. “So you’re all that stands in the way of the mighty Franklin clan? You must think pretty highly of yourself.”
“Well, maybe I do,” she said.
“And yet Sebastian sickens every day.”
“Which is sad,” she said, “but no fault of mine. Sometimes people get better and sometimes they don’t. You know that.”
“Or maybe you’re not as powerful as you let on.”
She stood. “Keep pushing me, Simon, and we’ll see how powerful I am.”
He laughed again. “Is that a threat? You think you could beat me?”
“I know I could.”
Simon said, “I’m the one who unraveled the greatest spell of Victor Archimagus.”
“Which is impressive,” Meredith said acidly. “Impressive that you’d waste so many years trying to match the egomania of a man you despise. But while you were busy with your precious tree, I was busy with all the other areas of study that I’m sure you neglected, including battle magic, so don’t take me on, Simon. It’ll be no contest.”
He said loudly, “I made my ‘precious’ tree for you. For us. So that someday—”
“Well I never asked you to!”
They stood there in the darkness, angry.
Then she said, “I think this conversation is over.” She added, more gently, “Rein them in, Simon. For both our sakes. If you ever loved me, rein them in.”
She turned and strode off down the path, flanked by rows of poplars that stood like sentinels. And beyond her the garden wall, and beyond that the crest of the hill, over which loomed the long black limbs of Victor’s tree.
When she was gone, Simon remembered that other night, long ago.
“You can’t marry him,” he’d told her. “It won’t work out. You’ll never be happy. Meredith, you don’t have to go through with this, it’s not too late. Come away with me, now.”
And she’d told him all the reasons why not, and asked him where they’d go.
“I don’t know,” he’d said. “We’ll figure something out.” And when she’d refused again he’d said, “Well, I’m leaving. Tonight. No matter what. You can come with me or not. I’ll pack some things and wait for you in the garden, in case you change your mind.”
And he’d stood there, by the marble bench, watching her window, as the night grew chill. He’d watched her lights go out, and then, later, when he knew she hadn’t changed her mind, he’d walked away, and never looked back.
And now he strode down gravel paths, thinking over her reasons — again. In the end only one of them really mattered. Family. As he slipped out the garden gate, he paused to glare up at Victor’s tree.
Just then there came a great cracking sound that echoed across the violet sky, and one of those branches tore free and tumbled down, plummeting to the earth.
The following afternoon the Archimagus family gathered at their private cemetery on a hill overlooking Victor’s tree. The sky was a solid gray slate, the air thick and oppressive. A few words were said. Elizabeth wept ceaselessly.
Simon avoided eye contact with Meredith, who was now the focus of near-unanimous suspicion from the children of Franklin. She kept her face devoid of expression. At one point during the service, from the back of the crowd there came a single soft guffaw, perhaps in response to some whispered remark. Bernard glanced back over his shoulder, in order to identify the offender. Simon didn’t have to look, he knew the voice. Malcolm.
Bernard’s eyes were full of a cold, dead rage, and for a moment Simon half thought — and in that instant half hoped — that Bernard would go tearing through the crowd and disembowel Malcolm. But after a few seconds Bernard hunched his shoulders and turned back toward the grave of his son.
The next week was stiflingly hot. Simon slept on a blanket on his balcony, and even so he awoke constantly, bathed in sweat. During the day most members of the Archimagus family congregated in the great hall, where the air was cooler, but even that expansive space began to feel cramped, as the children of Franklin and the children of Atherton vied for tables, jostled one another, and exchanged words.
One afternoon there came a hurried knocking at Simon’s door. He opened it to find Garrett standing there, panting. The boy said, “It’s Malcolm. You have to come. Now.”
Simon strapped on his sword, and followed Garrett down the stairs.
When Simon arrived in the great hall, he saw Malcolm’s gang lounging at their accustomed tables, which were covered with an assortment of potted plants. Nearby stood a knot of young men from among the descendants of Franklin, including Bernard, who were glaring at Malcolm and his cousins and conferring angrily. The rest of the crowd, several dozen relatives, were evenly split between the children of Franklin and the children of Atherton, and the two sides eyed each other with open hostility. Simon hurried forward.
“Simon!” called Malcolm then, with false cheer. “There you are. Come take a look at this.”
Simon approached, wary.
Malcolm nodded to the plant in his hand. “I’ve discovered the most delightful diversion, the perfect way to pass a hot summer’s day. An acquaintance of mine delivered these last night. They’re all the rage in certain foreign climes, I’m told.”
Simon frowned at the plant, which was some sort of miniature tree with spindly limbs and dense, brushy foliage.
Malcolm held up a large knife. “Here’s how it works. You shape these trees into the most elegant forms simply by removing branches you find undesirable. So, take this one here.” He poised his blade below one of the tree’s tiny branches. “I don’t like it at all.”
He flicked his wrist and the branch fluttered down, landing on the toe of his boot. He kicked the branch aside onto the floor.
Bernard began hurling curses. A few of his relatives herded him away, murmuring at him to just ignore Malcolm, who affected nonchalance as he leaned back against the table and remarked, “I guess he’s not a fan.” He returned his gaze to Simon and held up the knife again. “How about you, Simon? Want to give it a go?”
“No thanks,” Simon said.
“Pity.” Malcolm slipped the knife back into his belt sheath. “It’s quite fun.”
“Well, I think you’ve had enough fun for one day,” Simon said. “So why don’t you take your little tree, and your little friends here, and move along. Now.”
Malcolm smiled. “No,” he said airily, crossing one leg over the other, “I’m comfortable here.”
“But here’s the thing,” Simon said, sketching a diagram in the air. “I can make you rather uncomfortable.” Pale blue smoke rose from his fingers. He was bluffing though. He had no intention of unleashing magic in a situation like this.
And Malcolm knew it. He laughed. “You think you’re so scary. That’s why your mother summoned you back here, to frighten us. But you and I both know that if you harm me, my sister will destroy you.”