Those riders likely were the only means of enforcing the “law” here, which in this case would be little more than shire justice decreed by those in power. The kind of power wielded by my future husband’s family.
Riding back to the village was a risk that promised uncertain rewards. Doing this myself, while uncertain as well, was the path I much preferred to take.
“I can do this.” I spoke the words out loud, in part to soothe my own frazzled nerves, and partly to reassure Syndrian. He had no idea what I was capable of. No one did—including myself. Which was why I was all the more committed to trying.
Luck had been with me the past few hours, the past several days, in fact. Other than losing the death mask, I’d had nothing but winning hands in every game I’d played. This was no different. A game with life and death stakes that perhaps felt more immediate than what awaited me at home, but still… Whether I won big or lost it all, I had to try.
With Syndrian rubbing the dark stubble on his chin, obviously holding back his words, I climbed from Poet’s back. After looping her reins around a sturdy low-hanging branch, I scanned the ground around my feet for the right kindling.
Syndrian followed close behind, his voice at my back. “Did you carry a fire striker?” he asked. “Allow me, miss. I can—”
I shook my head. “No, Syndrian. Please…”
I was about to do something I hadn’t tried since I was thirteen years old. Well, if I were being honest with myself, I had tried this, but in secret. Always hidden away. Sometimes in the small village cabin my father did not know I’d discovered and visited when I could get away. Other times, in my rushed movements through the manor, as I flew past candles and lamps. And then always, almost always on the walks to the crofter’s cottage, I used the lamps that illuminated the grounds to keep away the vengersax to practice.
Aside from the many places I worked my gifts in secret, the last time I’d ever been so bold, so careless as to be seen by anyone who understood was that day. When my father caught me. The memory flashed back to me, sudden and sharp like a blow to the face.
Norwin had been oblivious, too worked up over an accumulation of dust beneath a settee to notice that I stood in the doorway of the main hall. I’d scarcely touched my fingertips together, intending to play a harmless prank on the annoying butler, when a hand gripped the back of my hair so hard, my teeth rattled in my head. My father stood behind me in the main hall, witnessing my every move.
He released my hair and ordered me to my room. I, stunned and sobbing hot tears, ran to my quarters, Lord Lombard following close behind. I wanted to collapse in a fit of weeping and moaning, but I walked into my room with my chin lowered and shoulders back. I remained unnaturally quiet, as I knew my father would expect.
“Our magic is dead.” Lord Lombard seethed, bending so his face was a finger’s breadth from mine. “If you ever attempt to use yours again,” he said, his eyes vicious, “I will kill you myself, Palmeria. Do you understand? I will burn your body and every record that you ever existed will be wiped from this realm. I have that power. Over many, many people. Especially you.”
I nodded, tears drenching the front of my dress. My lips trembled, and my head throbbed from the force of my father’s pull on my hair. I couldn’t apologize, couldn’t speak. I knew what my father and mother had told me over the years. About the unholy curse of magic that bound us forever to secrecy. My father had buried his magic so deeply, he believed he had destroyed it. He insisted the only safe path was for everyone like us to do the same.
“Kill your abilities,” my father demanded. “Your fate is in your hands. I’ll not remind you again.” He left me alone then, and I launched myself into bed and buried my face in the pillows.
My mother came to my quarters just a few moments later, summoned no doubt by the sound of my miserable tears. Either that or perhaps sent by my father. One of his favorite phrases was, “Deal with her,” and he uttered it then like a curse.
Lady Lombard did deal with me, slamming my door so hard, the room seemed to tremor with the force.
She did not hug me but stood over my bed, her lips set in a resigned frown. She did not bend to smooth my hair or wipe my tears. Her face was a mask. Emotionless as death, she handed me a key.
“Our lives are possible because of very, very powerful people,” she said stiffly. “Many years before you were born, before that bastard son was conceived, your father made deals with those people to protect himself. To create a future for his family that would never have been possible otherwise. A future that would be denied to those who use magic. Are you listening, Palmeria?”
I sat upright and clutched the oddly shaped key in my hand. I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We are forever bound to the work your father does with the Otleich family. This home, our clothes, the rich food on our table… We owe all of it to them. Without them, without the contracts your father has negotiated, we would not simply be cast out from all this… We would be killed. You understand this, yes?” Her voice was calm, so matter of fact as she explained how easily I could be scrubbed from Efimia, from the known universe. She echoed what my father had said, and I believed my parents meant every word.
There was a time, ages ago, when all beings of all types and origins lived openly. But history hadn’t been kind to Tutovl. Or, perhaps because of Tutovl, history hadn’t been kind to beings like my parents, like myself. I understood what my parents meant, even if I could not accept it. But in that moment, with my mother’s icy stare seeping into my very soul, I simply nodded, uninterested in earning another insult or injury for my disobedience.
“Good.” Lady Lombard narrowed her eyes. “You will forget that you wield any power. To disobey the most basic rules of this realm means certain death for all of us. Me, your father, you. Not even your precious bastard brother and his mother would be spared.”
She leaned close to me, her pretty face hatefully cold.
“You’re old enough now to know this. To understand what’s at stake. To understand that the people your father works for would see us all burned. And not only them. The world is nothing more than a wicked estate. Be grateful for the place you have within it. Your circumstances could be far, far worse.”
She snapped her fingers, and a tiny flame ignited between her fingertips before fading without leaving even a trace of smoke behind.
I tried to hold my face expressionless, though my mouth nearly fell open. This was the first time I learned that my mother had magic too. I’d always been aware that my father had been born with unusual abilities, though he’d refused to provide any details. He’d certainly never, ever shown me any display of power.
Lady Lombard pointed to the key. “That will unlock the family treasury. Contained within are contracts that document every arrangement that has brought us the unparalleled wealth we enjoy.”
My mother held a finger in my face, scorn and distrust etched into her perfect features.
“Do not think you can ever escape your destiny. The secrets contained in our treasury willnotbring us absolution for our crimes. And yes, I include you in that, dear daughter. Make no mistake. Lest you think someday you might be able to turn on your parents, hear this from mine own lips: There is no escaping the consequences of our actions. You can never turn us in to the queen and negotiate for yourself a life of freedom. There is no freedom in this life. There is only the degree to which we gild our cages.” She swept her hand around the room. “And your father has managed to gild ours exceptionally well.”
She turned her back to leave but then faced me once again. “Should anything happen to your father and I, that key will not absolve you. It will only help you take those responsible down with us. Because if we fall”—she drew in a deep breath, her eyes almost glowing with an unnatural light—“they all fall.”