“But Nat and I aren’t like you and Henry,” I reminded her. “We never have been. Even at the best of times, we’ve argued more. And that would make it even harder to be on public display, with everyone watching our every gesture. We’d have to be very sure of each other to cope with that. And we’re not.”
“So you’re going to give up?” Sybil looked upset. “Just like that?”
I stopped short at the end of the loggia. “Sybil, please.” It hurt too much to keep talking about Nat. “This isn’t why I came looking for you.”
She glanced at me in surprise. “It isn’t?”
“No.” The gardener was coaxing his wheelbarrow toward a square of lawn that was altogether too close to us. I tugged on Sybil’s arm to guide her back down the length of the loggia. “You’ve heard about the serpent—the second one?”
“The one that looked like Henry?” Sybil shuddered. “Yes. The story’s all over the Court. The very idea makes me sick.”
“I think Chantress magic might be behind it.”
“Chantress magic?” Sybil’s smooth forehead wrinkled in doubt. “But how—”
“I’ve heard music.” We were well away from the gardener now, and I couldn’t see a sign of anyone else. Still, I spoke as quietly as possible.
Sybil too kept her voice down. “What kind of music?”
“I’ve heard it three times now, with the mermaid, and the sea monster, and the serpent that looked like the King—”
“They sang to you?”
“Not exactly. Well, the mermaid did sing—but the music I’m talking about was quite different. It came from the water around her, and it completely blocked my own magic. I heard it with the other creatures too—the serpents.” Even the memory of the song chilled me. “It’s an angry music, Sybil. Full of fury. And there’s something about it that makes me think of Chantress singing. Not the melody, or the tuning. But there’s something about the voice itself, and some of the cadences—”
“And yet iron broke the magic?”
“We didn’t try it on the mermaid,” I said. “But it struck down the other creatures, yes.”
“That doesn’t sound like Chantress magic to me.”
“But the singing does, at least a little. Have you ever heard anything to suggest that another Chantress might be out there? Even the merest ghost of a rumor?”
“Never.” Sybil had a beautiful voice, but it went rough as she spoke. “Scargrave was very thorough, Lucy. My cousins, our old friends—everyone who was a Chantress was killed so quickly. The only reason you survived was because your mother hid you and hedged you all about with enchantments.”
Was it my imagination, or was the rain growing heavier? In the distance, I saw the gardener heft his spade and fork into the barrow and wheel them away.
I quickened my pace. “But perhaps there was someone else like me, someone else who was hidden—”
“Who’s never been heard of from that time to this? It seems unlikely.”
Sybil stumbled, pattens clicking, and I realized I was walking too fast. I slowed down. “But what about the singing I heard?”
“Are you ready to swear it was a Chantress?” Sybil asked.
“Well, no. But I was sure . . . At least, I thought at the time . . .” I trailed off. The truth was that the memory was fading now, and I wasn’t sure of much of anything, especially in the face of Sybil’s skepticism.
“I don’t doubt you heard something,” Sybil said gently. “But I question whether it was a Chantress.”
“What else could it have been? Do you have any ideas?”
Sybil laughed a little wryly. “My upbringing being what it was, I have a hundred and one ideas. Mama used to say that all kinds of creatures could sing—goblins, demons, faeries, sprites—the list was endless.”
We reached the end of the loggia again and turned toward the garden.
“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “It’s true there was something unearthly about the music I heard, but there was something human about it too.”
“I see.” Sybil looked thoughtful. “Well, Mama also used to say that Chantresses weren’t the only humans who could work magic with music.”
“Really?” This was news to me. Lady Helaine had never mentioned there were others.
“Oh, yes. She adored telling stories about them—the high priestesses of ancient Egypt, the druids, various Greeks, the occasional prophetess. She even ran across a sect of wise women here in England who swore they could work magic by singing.”
“They weren’t Chantresses?”
“Apparently not. Just an odd little group that worshipped water and called on its powers through incantation.” She smiled, though her eyes