Tethered by Blood
Page 18
“It’s not the end of the kingdoms, underwizard. Matt is a respected wizard these days. You could be compared to worse people.”
“He and I are nothing alike.”
The master’s brow quirked with curiosity, and I realized my denial might have been too strong. I needed to be careful. After all, just a few walls separated us from Kurke. He might be eavesdropping on our conversation with a listening spell at this very moment.
“What I mean is, he’s so...tall.”
“I don’t mean his height. I’ve known him since we were children. He had a difficult childhood. His family died when he was young. I think your childhood was similar.”
A question lay somewhere beneath those words. I avoided answering it by asking, “How did they die?”
“That’s not important,” the master said with a wave of his hand. “A tragic accident. After he became an underwizard, Matt almost lost his apprenticeship for brawling, same as you. He almost killed a boy over a basket of food.”
“His master didn’t feed him?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t for him. Matt’s always been a bit of a...libertine, shall we say? He had a dalliance with a certain woman. The food was for her and her child.”
“Oh.” My stomach sickened as I thought of the strange mix of evil and generosity that made up Master Kurke. “How...” I searched for the right word, “... heroic.”
He frowned. “It wasn’t heroic at all. His master would have given him food if he’d asked. But he was too proud, and his temper got the best of him. I was still an underwizard myself, and it took both Grandfather’s and my intervention to convince his master to keep him.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have interfered.” There were signs of Kurke’s unbalanced mind long ago. If he’d suffered the natural consequences of his actions back then, perhaps he wouldn’t be tormenting me now.
“You may as well know it—I have a strange weakness for rescuing things. The rabbit when I was six which should have been supper. A long line of needy people when I was an underwizard. Matt when we were teenagers. Ivan. You. Should I have left you to your fate in Bramford?”
I saw his point. But still, I had a feeling that Kurke, with his heavy load of anger and resentment toward the Wendyn family, would wish for the same thing. “Maybe,” I said softly. “Maybe it would have been better if you’d never rescued any of us.”
He shook his head, displeased with my lack of understanding. “Matt learned to control his temper; that’s what I’m saying. It’s time you do too. Short tempers make for dangerous wizards.” He stood and moved around the desk. I didn’t know what he was about until he rested a hand on my shoulder. “You have promise, underwizard. Don’t lose your way.”
“Mmm.” I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There was a quality to his voice I’d never heard before. It was like the pride I’d heard in his tone when he told me I did well after the second and third trials—but there was more to it, too. There was something almost like affection or friendship.
“Despite everything, you’re doing well. Very well.” The weight of his hand on my shoulder brought a burst of emotion to my chest and an ache to my eyes I couldn’t explain. After a moment he lifted his hand and moved away.
“We’ve gotten far off topic. Open the package. I trust you. But you've piqued my curiosity with this book that the librarian’s daughter went to such lengths to send.”
I chewed on my lip. Who knew what sort of book Orly had found for me. Still, the master didn't have to say any of that, and I couldn’t say no in the face of his kindness. I took a breath and slid a finger under the parcel’s paper.
Please don’t let this be a book about females and magic.
The corner came undone. I performed the same procedure on the opposite corner and folded the paper open on each side.
“God’s ghost! At this rate, I'll be old by the time it’s unwrapped.” Master Wendyn reached across to pull the package out of my arms and ripped the paper open with one sweeping gesture. It fell away, and he stared down at the book, consternation on his face.
“It’s not what you think.” I grabbed for the book, but he held it out of my reach.
“Well. Aqua Pura Enchantments and the Fourth Trial. I’ve never heard of this one. Is it new?”
I got a look at the cover, and relief flooded me. “Yes, it came out last week,” I invented. “Orly knew I wanted to read it.”
“So your sweetheart secured the first copy for you?” But this time I heard the teasing in his voice.
“We’re friends. I asked her to send it when it arrived.”
“She must be a good friend, then. I insist that you read it.” The corner of his mouth quirked in an almost-smile. “No sense in wasting such a useful—and timely sent—book.”
He swiveled and headed out of the room.
I sagged with relief.
When I was back in the library again, I opened the front cover, to find Orly had placed a note there. Thank the heavens the master never thought to open it himself.
Avery—This book came into my hands just today, and Papa knows nothing about it. I knew I’d never get this chance again, so I’m sending it to you. I can’t spare it very long before its absence will be noticed, so be quick about reading it. The Belanokian dictionary I wanted to send along wouldn’t fit in the messenger. If your master doesn’t have one, there are several at the Wizard’s Library you can borrow.
In much smaller print on the back side of the note, which I had to stand close to the window and squint to read, it said, Superb job of magicking the cover, isn’t it?
I looked over the front of the book again, at its glossy front and gilded lettering, then flipped it open and turned to the title page.
Fancy, archaic Belanokian crawled across the page. I had a passing familiarity with the language, thanks to the Belanokian dictionary I had found in Master Hapthwaite’s library—although it disappeared once he found me studying it. It also helped I’d always been a quick hand at picking up languages.
I couldn’t be certain of the exact interpretation of the title, but I believed it translated to something like Desiring Blood—A Collection of Bloody Spells.
For a moment, all I could do was stare, certain I had interpreted it incorrectly. But the longer I stared, the more certain I was that the title said exactly what I thought it did.
Orly had really done it. She’d found me a book about blood magic.
***
I spent the better part of the afternoon poring over the book, staring at its dark, swooping Belanokian characters. The longer I tried to make sense of them, the less sense they seemed to make. My feeble grasp of the language wasn't enough to interpret the complicated wizard’s terminology and conjugated verbs.
A cursory examination of the master’s library revealed not a single Belanokian dictionary. I combed through the books a second time with the same results.
It looked as though another trip to the Wizard’s Library was in order.
I mulled over the question all afternoon and worked up the courage to ask the master at supper time.
“Go to the Conclave?” he repeated, staring at me over the top of a letter. I’d never seen the wax seal at the top before. He set it aside. “Again? What for?”
“It’s Hampstone I need to visit. I need more cleaning solutions. I’ve had Mrs. Pitts get me every kind they have in Bramford, but they don’t have what I need.” It wasn’t a lie, and I was counting on the master’s vanity to win over any protests he might have.
But he was already shaking his head. “To Hampstone by yourself? Unwise. It’s a large city, and that street outside the Conclave is lined with pickpockets.”
“I’ve been there before,” I pointed out. “Nothing happened. Besides, I was something of a pickpocket myself in my past.”
He gave me a wry glance. “That’s not your most appealing quality. Is that supposed to convince me?”
“I hoped it would.”
Well. There went my argument. Now not only was I still stuck doing the master’s washing, but I also couldn’t visit the Conclave.
Which meant I had no way to read the blood magic book.
Master Wendyn went back to perusing his letter, but put it down again when he notice I was still watching him.
“Was there something else, underwizard?”
Annoyance over the blood magic book made me reckless. “I have to be honest. I don’t like washing your clothes.”
Confusion colored his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I loathe cleaning clothes. Detest it. I always have. The happed hands, the monotony, the boredom. It reminds me of the bad times with my mother. I’d rather have a tooth pulled than continue washing your shirts.”
His eyebrows rose. “Well. Well then. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Don’t know.” I fiddled with my napkin, just to give myself something to do and not have to stare at him any longer. “I didn’t know how to say no, I guess.”
He took a sip from his goblet. “God’s ghost, underwizard, you have to tell me these things. I’m not a telepath.”
“You didn’t give me a chance to,” I pointed out. “You assumed I’d be delighted to clean your sweat stains.”
His jaw worked. “We have to learn how to communicate better if this apprenticeship is going to work. You have to tell me how you feel.”
“I agree. And you have to listen better.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck and then pushed his chair back and stood. “I need to go.” He crumpled the letter and tossed it in the fire before swiveling from the room.
I stared after him, feeling annoyed and put upon and vaguely ashamed. It wasn’t my problem. I was here to become a master wizard, not a professional laundress.
But I supposed I could have been nicer about it.
I gestured at the fire. “Who do you suppose that letter was from?”
His brother, Ivan gestured from the other side of the table, one-handed, since he had an apple in his other hand. He took an enormous bite from it, set it aside, and gestured, He beg forgiveness. I hear master talk.
From Bastian? And the master read it? This wasn’t the first time he’d received a missive from his brother. All the others went straight into the fire, unopened. It was a good sign he’d opened it. Perhaps the master was ready to forgive.
It had only taken him a few years to listen to his own brother. How long would it take him to forgive the underwizard that didn’t want to clean his shirts?
***
The next day, the master didn’t come to breakfast.
“He’s out for the day,” Edie said apologetically, while setting a bowl of fresh fruit on the table between Ivan and me.
“Is he?” I said, only half listening. I had been up late reading the blood magic book, trying to interpret words that wouldn't make sense. My mind felt soggy, like paper dampened so that the ink ran into a cloud of color, rendering it void of meaning.
“Yes. But he said he left you a list of things to study in the library.”
I nodded and stared at the pear Ivan had picked up. Edie moved toward the door which stood open. As she crossed the threshold, it occurred to me—this could be my chance. I blurted, “Do you have a moment, Edie? I’d like to talk to you, if I may. Outside.”
“Oh!” Pink climbed in her cheeks, and she batted a wisp of golden hair out of her face. “Of course.”
I pushed my chair back. It scraped on the stone floor. Ivan gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head. The rustle of my trousers and squeak of my boots were loud in the awkward silence. Or was it only awkward to my ears?
Nerves filled me. I hated being nervous. What if this backfired?
“Where are we going?” Edie asked when I didn’t stop in the hall but continued toward the kitchens.
“To the stables,” I told her. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Edwin and Edie. Two beautifully alliterative names. Handsome and unattached Edwin would be the perfect replacement for Edie’s infatuation with me. Once she met him, she’d understand that too.
***
By suppertime, the master had returned. I walked into the banquet hall to find him in his usual seat, as relaxed and casual as though he never left.
The meal passed quietly. Of the three of us, Ivan talked the most, in his own way. He gestured questions at me, which I answered aloud. The master offered nothing to the conversation.
The longer his silence continued, the more my irritation grew. So he just wasn’t going to talk to me again, and all because I didn’t want to wash his shirts?
By the time Edie brought in dessert, I’d had just about enough.
“Well,” I said as Edie came in with dessert, “If you’re so mad at me over your silk shirts, I guess I can keep cleaning them. I’d rather have a master who acknowledges my existence.”
He looked up from the cake Edie had just set in front of him and blinked once at me. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t said one word during this meal. Fine. I’ll keep cleaning your shirts if it’s that important to you. Or better yet, I’ll teach you how to do it yourself.”
He blinked again. “You’re making as much sense as Marelda again.”
I felt less sure of myself. “Isn’t this about laundry?”
He looked down at the confection in front of him. “Do you know what we’re having for dessert?”
“Don’t change the subject. You’ve been ignoring Ivan and me the whole meal. Something’s bothering you, so if it’s not your clothes, then what?”
Irritation tugged his brows downward. “Fine, if you’re going to insist on having this unnecessary conversation. Yes. I felt sheepish over the laundry.”
“I knew it. So I’ll just keep doing it.”
“You will not.”
“Excuse me?”
His jaw worked. “Much as it pains me to admit it, your studies are more important than my silk shirts. Even if they are handmade and imported from Waldrin.”
I rolled my eyes, or at least meant to. But in the process of doing so, my eyes fell on the plated creation in front of me. Ivan had already dug into his dessert with relish.
“What—where did this come from?” I asked stupidly.
“Ah,” he said, his face relaxing into a pleased smile. “You do recognize it, then.”
“It’s a Waltney cake.” My eyes rose to his face. “But...these are made in Waltney.”
He looked rather smug. “Yes. So I’m told.” He picked up his fork and inserted it into the dainty treat. “I’ve heard they’re delicious.” He lifted the fork, now filled with delicate cake and cream and the haranjes that only grew in the Midnight Forest near my old home.
“But—but—where did these come from?”
He sniffed at the bit of cake on his fork before answering, “Now, that is a silly question. You’ve just said they’re only made in Waltney. It would stand to reason, then, that these cakes came from Waltney, wouldn’t it?”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking. I mean how did they come to be here?”
“Ah. That is the question, isn’t it?” But he didn’t answer it. Instead, he took a bite, savoring it far longer than I had patience for. “Mmm, yes, the rumors are true. Waltney cakes are delicious.”
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
He smiled with a bit of the mischief and wickedness on his lips that I was only used to seeing on Kurke’s face. I got the feeling he was enjoying himself immensely. “Perhaps. But not until you taste it. You’ve never tasted Waltney cakes before—am I right?”
I sniffed at the dessert and pick up my fork. “No,” I admitted. “We couldn’t afford them, though I’ve seen them often enoug
h through the shop windows. We had plenty of haranjes at our disposal, but Mama was too ill to bake.”
“Well, then.” He nodded at my plate. “Eat.”
My curiosity had fully engaged now, and he didn’t have to say it again. “Very well.”
I wasn’t prepared for the taste of haranjes. It took me back. I was twelve years old, gathering the tangy, bittersweet fruit in the forest with Gavin. The flavor, while delicious and delicate, carried a sting that had nothing to do with the cake.
“Well?” He raised an eyebrow.
I swallowed past the ache in my throat. “It’s very good.”
His face relaxed into a smile. I was surprised that he even cared what I thought.
“I was in Waltney today.” He stabbed the dessert with his fork, not looking at me. “I suppose it’s an apology. I’m not good at that sort of thing. You’ve worked hard, underwizard. You’ve done as I asked. I’m more than a little impressed with your efforts. I wanted to reward you. And to apologize for taking advantage.”
“You...went all the way to Waltney, just to get me some cake?”
“It wasn’t that far. I have a wizard’s door to a fellow master wizard there.” He took another bite. “He didn’t remember you. But he’d heard of your father.”
I choked on the bite I’d just taken and coughed. When I got control of myself, I said, “Most people would. Papa is the town drunk.”
“Yes. I didn’t have to ask very far before I found him.”
My stomach dropped. “M-my father?” I stuttered. “You found Papa?”
He shrugged and stared at his cake. “Just thought I’d look in on him for you. I know the two of you don’t seem to talk, but aren't you curious now and then whether the old fellow’s still breathing?” He took a bite, then another. “God’s ghost, these Waltney cakes are delectable, aren’t they? I’m almost sorry I didn’t buy all the bakery had.”
“Go back,” I said. “To the part about Papa. Did you...talk to him?”
“Ah.” He put down his fork. “So you are curious. Well, he’s alive. I found him occupying a stool in the Oak and the Cross, every bit as inebriated as you promised he’d be.”