A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(71)

“What do you most want? No—don’t tell us. Fix it in your mind. Like a wish.”

Ann nods, closes her eyes. A minute passes.

“Nothing’s happened,” Felicity whispers. “Has it?”

“I don’t know,” Pippa says. “Ann? Ann, are you all right?”

Ann rocks back and forth on her heels. Her lips part. I’m afraid she’s gone into some kind of trance. I look to my mother, who brings a finger to her mouth. Ann’s lips open wide. What comes out is like no music I’ve ever heard, clear and soaring, sweet as an angel’s voice. Her singing raises gooseflesh on my arms. Every note seems to change her. She’s still Ann, but somehow the music makes her achingly lovely. Her hair shines. Her cheeks become smooth and bright. She’s like some watery creature from the deep—a mermaid come to live on the glossy surface of the river.

“Ann, you’re beautiful,” Pippa gasps.

“Am I?” She runs to the river, catches sight of her reflection. “I am!” She laughs, delighted. It’s startling, hearing a real laugh come from Ann. She closes her eyes and lets the music soar out of her.

“Incroyable!” Felicity says, showing off her French. “I want to try!”

“Me too!” Pippa cries.

They close their eyes, meditate for a moment, and open them again.

“I don’t see him,” Pippa says, looking around.

“Were you waiting for me, m’lady?” A beautiful young knight appears from behind a large golden oak. He sinks to one knee before Pippa. She gasps. “I have frightened you. Forgive me.”

“I might have known,” Felicity whispers dryly in my ear.

Pippa looks as if she’s just won every prize at the carnival. Giddily she says, “You are forgiven.”

He rises. He’s no more than eighteen, but tall, with hair the color of just-ripe corn and broad shoulders draped in a chain mail so light it is nearly liquid. The effect is of a lion. Powerful. Graceful. Noble.

“Where is your champion, m’lady?”

Pippa trips over her tongue, trying to be ladylike and controlled. “I have no champion.”

“Then I shall ask to have that honor. If the lady would grant me her favor.”

Pippa turns to us, her whisper verging on an excited squeal. “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming this.”

“You are not dreaming,” Felicity whispers back. “Or else we all are.”

It’s all Pippa can do not to shriek with happiness and jump up and down like a child. “Noble knight, I shall grant you my favor.” She means to be imperious but can barely keep from giggling.

“My life for yours.” He bows. Waits.

“I believe you’re supposed to give him something of yours, a token of affection,” I prompt.

“Oh.” Pippa blushes. She removes her glove and offers it.

“M’lady,” the knight says demurely. “I am yours.” He extends his arm and with a glance back at us, she takes it and lets him lead her down into the meadow.

“Any knights for you?” I ask Felicity. She shakes her head. “What did you ask for, then?”

Her smile is enigmatic. “Sheer might.”

Mother regards her coolly. “Careful what you wish for.”

An arrow whistles past our heads. It sticks fast in a tree just behind us. A huntress creeps into the open. Her hair is piled loosely upon her head like a goddess’s. There’s a full quiver of arrows strapped to her back, a bow at the ready in her hands. The quiver is all she’s wearing. She’s as naked as a newborn babe.

“You might have killed us,” I say, catching my breath, trying not to stare at her nakedness.

She retrieves the arrow. “But I didn’t.” She regards Felicity, who is studying her, intrigued and undaunted. “You’re not afraid, I see.”

“No,” Felicity says, retrieving the arrow. She runs her fingers over the sharp point. “Merely curious.”

“Are you a huntress?”

Felicity hands the arrow back. “No. My father used to hunt. He said it was the sport he admired most.”

“But you did not accompany him?”

Felicity’s smile is bitter. “Only sons are allowed to hunt. Not daughters.”

The huntress clasps a hand around Felicity’s upper arm. “There is great strength in this arm. You might prove to be a very skilled huntress. Very powerful.” The word powerful brings a smile to Felicity’s face, and I know she’s going to get what she’s after. “Would you like to learn?”

In answer, Felicity takes the bow and arrow.

“There’s a snake coiled about the limb of that tree,” the huntress says.

Felicity closes one eye and pulls back on the bow with all her might. The arrow soars straight up, then bounces along the ground. Felicity’s cheeks flush with disappointment.

The huntress applauds. “A solid effort. You might be a huntress yet. But first, you must observe.”

Felicity, observe? Perish the thought. Huntress or not, she’s got a tough road ahead of her, teaching Felicity patience. But to my surprise, Felicity doesn’t scoff or argue. She follows the huntress and patiently allows her to demonstrate the proper technique over and over again.